Sulu carefully, almost awkwardly stroked Ruth’s hair, pushing it from her face. She was curled in his arms, nearly flinching from his touch. “Ruth,” he murmured, “Ruth, you’re all right. It’s real, baby, it’s all real. I’m not angry with you, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She moaned softly. “Baby, can you hear me?” he pleaded. “Ruth, listen to me! Honey, what’s wrong, what’s the matter with you?” She sobbed, curling more tightly, and inside him the fear tightened, too. Why couldn’t he reach her? This wasn’t like Diane. Jaris would have jumped at the chance to have this attention from him. He was offering, giving Ruth all she needed, but she turned from him. She wouldn’t take it. Why? Does she hate me? came the terrible thought. No, I won’t believe it. “Ruth, what’s wrong?” he asked again.
She shuddered, groaning, and before he knew it, he had slapped her face. To his surprise, she didn’t cringe. She seemed to be grateful for the anger. Her eyes met his, briefly, pleading sorrow, grief, regret. She was sorry. But for what? What does she think she’s done? He slapped her again, and she sobbed gratefully. “What did you do?” he demanded harshly.
“I - I...” she stammered brokenly, and he rejoiced. She heard him, she understood him!
“Answer me!” he snapped.
“I don’t know, I just - “ She gasped, then went on in a strangled voice. “I’m sorry, please, I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”
He hardened. Caring didn’t work. He’d have to force it out of her. Warning bells were beginning to sound within him. Whatever she had done, it had to be serious. But what, when? “What didn’t you know, Ruth?” he growled. She hissed in air.
“I didn’t know!” she wailed, “It hurts, goddess, it hurts!”
“What hurts?” He made it a shouted order.
“My head, pounding, burning... stop it, please stop it!” she screamed.
Sulu turned away, thinking furiously. The poison? No, M’Benga says she’s fine. Watching Rand? No, I don’t think she even saw her. Fear, unreality? No, she says burning, pounding, not shattered. What? Think! Her head. Her head? Or her thoughts?
“Ruth, think,” he commanded. She cried out.
“It hurts!”
Her thoughts. Was her telepathy coming back, adjusting to her new body, as her empathy had? He’d known of her talents, knew what power lay locked in a foreign body. It had been the one part of her he hadn’t touched, because he couldn’t. But it hadn’t mattered before. She couldn’t touch it either. But if it was coming back... “Telepathy, Ruth?” he asked. She sobbed.
“I’m so afraid!”
“Of what?”
“Him!”
Panic flashed at the back of Sulu’s mind. “Who?”
“Power, dark, flowing... I took...”
“The name, Ruth!”
“He touched you...”
“WHO!”
“Spock!” It was a cringing, screaming, hopeless confession.
Spock. Gods, Susoana, Spock! What, when? He touched me. Telepathy. Sulu found himself shaking. Not with fear, with anger; steadily growing anger. He’d known the Vulcan wasn’t above invading another’s mind, known, too, that he would if he ever got the chance. But I was so careful never to give him the chance, never to give him a reason for wanting one. Damn, he’s seen too much! Interested in me, studying me. He’s watched Ruth and Jilla, he’s been careful. But when, when? And how does Ruth know? He took her shoulders, shaking her harshly. “Tell me what you know!”
“He made me forget!” she cried. “I’m sorry! He knows! I didn’t stop him, I’m not enough, can’t be, not ever!” Her hands clutched at her head. “I’m sorry, let it hurt...”
He shook her fiercely. “When, Ruth? Remember!”
“I was sick, so afraid - you didn’t let me die - oh god, you should have! I can’t - he made me forget - it hurt, so sick...”
Dread froze him. “Poison,” he said.
“It makes me sick, and takes so long to stop...” Ruth went on babbling, but Sulu no longer heard. Of course. I was too afraid for her to be cautious. He caught me - like McCoy did, like Kirk did... Fool! Weak, stupid fool! I should’ve known. Damn the demons, damn the monster, it’s destroyed me! Spock knows! He took advantage... Took advantage. Used. And gave back - nothing. How dare he? He’s the fool! You don’t know how dangerous a game you’ve played, Vulcan. You know me now - and you’ll fear me. With good reason. Men aren’t used. You’re going to learn just how much of a man I am.
Memories of Tarkus flooded him, and the other, darker memories of Calvario. He laughed. All the rage, all the hatred, all the need for vengeance - with no gratitude, no learning, no giving. I may love, Spock, but I don’t love you. The death I planned for Del so long ago, the death I would have given Cal if Imperial position hadn’t cheated me, I give to you.
He turned again to Ruth. “You weren’t wrong, honey,” he told her gently. “Spock was, and Spock will pay. You’re enough, my angel, more than enough.” Huge eyes stared at him, and he smiled and kissed them closed. “I love you, Ruth. Rest now.”
She burst into renewed tears, cleansing tears this time, and Sulu stayed with her until she slept. Then he left his cabin, heading for Spock and revenge.
Spock didn’t look up from his work when Sepak told him Sulu wished to see him. He answered affirmatively, and waited for the Security Chief to state his business.
“Spock,” Sulu said, and his voice was silky, taunting, nearly seductive - and a thin veil over cold threat. Every sense became alert, and Spock snapped his eyes to Sulu’s. They were fire and ice, accusing, mocking; furious, delighted. One thought flashed through Spock’s mind: He knows. He brushed aside the irrelevant matter of how. Sulu smiled, chilling, stalking. “Surely you know what I’ve come for,” he murmured.
“Revenge would be the logical answer,” Spock replied.
“Logic.” Sulu laughed. “Yes, you would cling to that. It won’t save you.” His eyes gleamed. “Let me confirm, Spock. I care; oh yes, I do. And I’m arrogant. And a monster that lives only because no one has yet been able to kill it. And DelMonde’s hawk. Know it all, Vulcan. It won’t matter. Your strength, your telepathy won’t save you. I could have already told Kirk how his woman serves you. I could’ve programmed your new bed partner to kill you, or the silver one you prefer. I could’ve arranged for Security to devise a perfect assassination. Or I could let you squirm, like McCoy. I’ll only guarantee one thing: only one of us comes out of this alive, and either way, your thievery of my mind won’t gain you a damn thing.”
Sulu had stopped smiling, and for the first time in his life, Spock was afraid. Raw fear, blind fear. Yes, he knew Sulu, and so knew the sincerity of his words. One may escape a spider, but one never escapes the web. And if he did kill Sulu, what of the Federation tools? What of his careful planning? How would he justify it to Marlena - if Marlena even lived? The hawk would have vengeance, dead or alive. And he would be left with less than if he had never known of the hawk’s existence. You say logic won’t save me, he thought, his mind working with a rapidity he had never before needed. You are right. Logic will lead me to kill you before you kill me. But logic also tells me so. Yet, does a dead man care about anything? If I do not kill you, you will kill me. Or will you? A wild hope formed in Spock’s mind, as wild as the fear which drove it. Perhaps I can use your web to weave one of my own. You care. You love. You need. “Because I’d really hate to kill him.” For DelMonde offered himself freely. You didn’t take him. But is that a guarantee you won’t take me? The hope and the fear mingled inextricably in Spock’s thoughts. No. It is a gamble, one I must take. Out of logic, for no other consideration will conquer the terror that beats at me.
“Yes,” he said, surprised his voice did not tremble. “Take what I owe you. It will, perhaps, suffice.” Spock saw the flicker of longing in Sulu’s eyes; longing and surprise. Yes, offer freely, that is the one chance. He stood very slowly, very carefully, watching Sulu draw his phaser as he did so. Never letting his eyes leave Sulu’s, he reached for the weapons on his own sash. He removed phaser and dagger and set them on the desk. The agonizer he held toward Sulu. “This might make an adequate beginning,” he suggested. “You would be the first to ever use this on me. It should prove an interesting experience for us both.” Spock saw Sulu cover his eagerness with a cynical smile as he continued. “I do not believe that an agonizer can make me scream; still, I will inform Sepak that we are not to be disturbed.”
He walked slowly to the door, seeing from the corner of his eye that Sulu added his phaser to the desk. Then he drew his dagger and ran a caressing finger along the blade before replacing it - not in its sheath, but in the sash at his waist. Spock shuddered, but spoke softly to Sepak. He turned. Sulu’s eyes were all fire now, ready, anticipatory, hungry. Hungry. Substance, sustenance. No one Imperial had ever been enough. He would devour, and now it was too late for Spock to change his mind. He took a breath, almost amused at how easily Sulu had played him while making him believe he was the puppeteer. I should have known.
“Feast,” he said.
Kirk was in his quarters when word came that McCoy had been found dead in Sickbay, an empty hypo still clutched in his hand. Poison. Kirk couldn’t suppress a chuckle. Sulu did have a knack for terror. The way he’d killed Rand, driving McCoy to suicide... It made him a little more respectful, and any further sympathetic thoughts for Farrell disappeared. I was a very lucky man, he told himself, accepting the truth without bravado or recrimination.
What to make of Sulu? Clever, but reckless. How to reconcile the two? How to learn what there was between him and the Don? And what was next now that the ship was theirs? How to tighten the alliances with Draco, with Rigel? Could there be one with Vulcan? Limitless possibilities, Kirk. Where do you want to go?
He smiled, closing his eyes, and soon felt Marlena’s hands on his shoulders, massaging.
“What are you thinking, Jim?” she asked.
“If I said, ‘about you,’ would it get me anywhere?” he replied jovially.
She laughed, just a touch nervously. “Jim!”
“Just asking.” He sat forward. “Where do we go from here, Marlena? Personal intrigues are solved, how do we get on with our galactic intrigues?” He watched her as she considered. She was so lovely...
“Get closer to Draco,” she said finally. “Halkan gives us dylithium, we could use other mined materials, and it would please Captain O’Niall. As long as she’s with us - well, that’s one more starship.”
Kirk nodded. “You’re as intelligent as you are beautiful, my dear.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Captain.”
The intercom signaled and he leaned over, answering it. “Kirk.”
“Captain, a message from Terra,” Holden’s voice said, and after a pause, “it bears the Emperor’s code, sir.”
Kirk whistled and exchanged a quick glance with Marlena. “Very interesting,” he said to cover the sudden nervousness. “I’ll take the message here, Mr. Holden.”
He instructed the computer to decipher the code. It was only a minute before the face of an Imperial functionary appeared on the small screen.
“Captain James Tiberius Kirk,” the man said, smiling amiably. “The Emperor wishes to personally congratulate and reward you and the crew of the Enterprise for your handling of the extremely difficult situation on Caros. You will be honored in a formal ceremony to take place at the Senate within four point three standard days. Your attendance at this function is expected and wholeheartedly anticipated. You are to rendezvous with the destroyers Kali and Siva, who will act as an honor guard, at the coordinates and time provided by this tape. Once again, Captain, congratulations. For the Imperium, Terra out.”
It took several minutes for the shock to wear off. When it did, Kirk was surprised at how calm he felt. No panic, no despair. He’d gotten all that worry out during the operation on Caros itself. Maybe he’d been waiting for this ever since. But it hardly mattered. It had come, as he had always suspected it might. A formal ceremony, on Terra. If it had been for anything other than Caros, he might not have been sure. And the Siva and Kali as honor guard only confirmed it. Guard, yes. Honor...?
He found himself chuckling. Marlena stared at him, ashen, fearful, and he shook his head.
“You see, dear,” he explained to her confused, horrified gaze, “dead men don’t worry.”
With Spock’s words, Sulu’s cold determination had turned to ominous delight. You’ll offer yourself, will you, Spock? Do you think you’re enough? But you know about Del. It worked once, you think. It may work again. But you forget one thing. Del didn’t take from me first. He made his offer when he didn’t have to. You have no choice, you’re only trying to save that tempting jade skin. But don’t think I’ll scorn the offer because of it. Oh no, I’ll take it, take it all. I’ll take more than you think I can. And it will start with blood, not scar-less electronic pain. Copper based, dark olive, hotter than Human blood. It will taste bitter, I suppose. I don’t think I’ll mind.
He considered quickly, carefully. The Vulcan hated humiliation, feared entrapment. To be forced to humble himself was an ultimate disgrace, and to do it for no great purpose, no overarching cause - to do it just to stay alive... Life meant very little to Spock without honor and personal dignity. I’ll have you crawl for me, Spock, he thought gleefully. More, I’ll have you wanting to crawl. How long ago was I wishing I could get you in the Booth, and regretting that I’d never be able to let you out alive once I did? How nice not to have to worry about that anymore.
And entrapment. You’ll crawl because there will be nothing else you can do. It will burn inside you, and that, too, will humiliate you. There’s something else I can use besides your sharp Vulcan pride. Captain’s Woman, Lieutenant Moreau, your sweet Marlena. Would you like her to watch what I do to you? And when you’re empty... sweet Marlena.
“Take off your shirt,” Sulu ordered as he approached Spock. The Vulcan stiffened, but obeyed. Sulu slashed the knife purposefully across Spock’s chest. The Vulcan stood motionless while Sulu carved the Japanese symbol for his name over the breastbone. “It’s something I’m told Vulcans do to their women,” he told Spock pleasantly, standing back to study his workmanship. A slight nod of confirmation was all he got in return. “You haven’t done it to yours,” he went on. “At least, not that I’ve noticed.”
“I would not presume...” Spock began tightly.
“Shall I call Marlena for you?” Sulu interrupted.
Anger came into the dark, alien eyes. Sulu savored it, then, with feigned abashment, slapped the Vulcan’s face. “You didn’t think I meant Ruth, did you?”
Spock took a step forward, and Sulu pressed the agonizer, still held in his right hand, to the lines of blood on the Vulcan’s chest. With a sharp hiss, Spock yielded, again standing motionless. Sulu smiled. This was going to take a long, long time. He prepared to embellish the scarring, and the sound of the intercom stopped him. Spock glanced at it, then at him.
“Ask,” Sulu murmured. Spock’s face darkened satisfactorily.
“May I respond?” he growled.
Sulu nodded, bowing graciously. Spock stepped to the unit.
“Spock,” he said.
Kirk’s voice was calm, almost pleasant. “Spock, we’ve been invited to Terra,” he said. “The Emperor wants to congratulate us - on Caros.”
There was silence for a few moments, then Spock’s eyes closed.
If he hadn’t been so disappointed, Sulu might have laughed at the irony. I wanted a trap. By Tartarus, I sure got one. Damn shame I’m in it, too.
“We will be publicly honored, Captain?” Spock asked tonelessly.
“No doubt,” Kirk replied. “We have worked well together.”
“I trust we will continue to do so,” Spock offered.
Kirk snorted. “Trust, Mr. Spock? Put your trust in the Empire.” Then he closed the channel.
Spock turned slowly. Sulu stared at him. Resignation, weariness, bitter despair came from the black eyes, and Sulu shook his head, chuckling softly. Spock returned the stare.
“You are not so insensitive as to misunderstand the meaning of such a summons,” he stated, “or to imagine that the Don will somehow save you. I fail to see any reason for amusement.” Sulu started to laugh, long, heartily. Even after raping my mind, you still don’t know? he thought incredulously. Of course, how can I expect you to understand? I don’t love you, but you don’t love me, either. He laughed for several minutes, seeing bitterness grow to fear in Spock’s eyes. The Vulcan was becoming concerned for his sanity. It made Sulu laugh all the more, and when he finally got under control, Spock’s gaze was alarmed. He took a deep, cleansing breath.
“Don’t take it so hard, Spock,” he said jauntily. “It will probably be a much less painful way to die.”
Jade DelMonde stood on the terrace outside her rooms, watching the courtyard. Geoffrey was playing there, with his tutor’s latest present - a seven year old Equian. It was going to cause trouble. Although not as much as much trouble as I’ll cause if what I suspect is true, she thought grimly. There had been talk in the harem, talk her maid had reported. The Don’s latest favorite was pregnant.
Jade clenched her fists against the anger. It was exactly the kind of thing she’d been concerned about. And reason or no reason, it was something she wouldn’t tolerate, no matter what Del said. Let the Empire think she can control you, Don, but how can I let them think I can’t? Or that she dictates to me? Damned whore! If it’s true, I’m putting a stop to it, and damned quick! No one jeopardizes my son!
“Ma’am?” Sarah’s voice said, and Jade turned to the terrace doors. Her maid curtseyed. “Dr. Morgan. Should I show him out here?”
“No,” Jade replied. “I’ll come in.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The girl left and Jade closed the doors to shut out any sounds from the courtyard. And to shield the yard from any sounds from her rooms. She was standing, waiting, her posture and expression Imperial, when Morgan came in. The doctor bowed.
“Donna, you sent for me?” he said.
“Yes,” she replied coldly. “I have two questions, Doctor. First, the gossip says Lady LiLing is pregnant, with the Don’s child. Is she?”
Morgan’s eyes shifted nervously. “Yes, ma’am, but - “
“Are you certain it’s his?” Jade snapped.
“She is, ma’am. Donna, I was - “
“My second question,” she interrupted. “Why did you allow it?” Her tone was chilling and accusatory and Morgan shuddered.
“Ma’am, it was approved...”
“By whom!” Jade thundered.
Morgan flinched. “The Don, ma’am.”
Jade froze, all her rage turning to icy fear.
“When the lady requested a halt to contraceptive injections, I of course reported it to the Don,” Morgan went on, “He said I was to do as she wished.”
Fury returned. “Why didn’t you report it to me? I run the household!”
“Yes, ma’am, but the Don suggested it might be best if I didn’t mention this to you.”
Jade laughed. “Of course he did. And you obeyed him.” She hardened. “You’re dismissed, Doctor. The palazzo no longer requires your services.”
Morgan stared, open-mouthed, and Jade’s eyes flashed at him. His mouth snapped closed, and he bowed, then turned and left the room.
Jade picked up a heavy vase and threw it across the room, then fell to her knees beside a small table. She let the fear come, let it wash over her. He’d lied, he was playing mentor, he would replace her. And Geoff. Why, what had his son done to warrant disinheritance? Or was it her, had she displeased him...
Stop thinking like an Imperial slut! she screamed at herself. On your knees, sobbing, Jade Melissa Han DelMonde? Get up and fight for yourself, for your son! Your husband taught you how, let him know he taught well! And let that devious bitch know her grand schemes won’t come off quite as easily as she thought.
She stood, shaking her hair from her face, quickly wiping her eyes. She called Sarah to instruct Lady LiLing that the Donna wanted to see her. Immediately.
“You sent for me, Donna?”
LiLing’s voice was sweet, melodic, and dripping with honeyed superiority despite her humble stance and properly discreet lowered eyes. Harem never met the gaze of a wife. Jade smiled contemptuously.
“Don’t use a title you have no respect for, whore,” she said. “And you think I’m your equal - look at me.”
Li looked up, eyes scornful, secretly amused. “As you wish - Lady.”
Jade resisted the urge to slap her. Instead, she let her gaze bore into the eyes so like her own. “You’re a fool if you think I’ll let you have his child.”
“You have nothing to say about it,” Li replied coolly.
“Do you think he’ll be pleased?”
“He is. Do you think he doesn’t know?”
“He’ll change his mind,” Jade said fiercely. “Count on it.”
“Count on this, Donna,” LiLing spat. “Within a year I’ll have your place, your title, your name, and you and that brat of yours will be on your way to an auction in the hold of a slaver!”
This time Jade didn’t resist. She slapped LiLing full force. When the girl’s hand rose to return it, she hissed sweetly, “Touch me and you’re dead. I’m the Donna of Rigel and you’re a Terran whore.” LiLing flushed, but her hand came down. Jade smiled. “Get out of my sight. Get to your rooms and stay there or the guards will bring you right back here. And then I’ll do more than slap that pretty face.”
LiLing turned, striding haughtily away, and Jade sent a message requesting audience with the Don. He would change his mind, or find she wasn’t gotten rid of so easily. Not easily at all.
The boy who was not Noel but Geoffrey ran past him, screaming with delight; followed not by Jerel, but by an Equian boy called Kelet. Courtland shuddered, trying as he did to tell himself that he was not a pet. The boys were different - but it was all painfully familiar. The Human child with the bright, intelligent black eyes set in a dark, serious face, followed closely by a gold-maned Equian with trusting blue eyes beneath the beginnings of a horn bud. Noel and Jerel, or Geoffrey and Kelet. Courtland had trouble distinguishing them and was frightened that there was no distinction at all.
How could the Don allow it? Did he think his Consigliore was a fluke, a mutant sentient? To let one so like the man he now called friend be led into his house...
Courtland shuddered again, recalling the gold and ivory collar, the golden leash that Kelet - and Jerel - had been almost afraid to have removed. To have his Equian Consigliore stand by and let another of that race be presented to his son as a present, a gift... Courtland tried to stop the pain that was rapidly becoming anger. All Humans were alike, his mother had said; the last time he had ever heard his mother’s voice, just before he was taken from her to be groomed and sent as a gift to Rigel. He had never known his father. ‘All Humans are alike.’ Even you, Del, by the gods, even you?
“Mr. Courtland?” Geoffrey’s voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked down. Geoff was grinning, Kelet behind him, a respectful, silent shadow. “Are you seeing my Father today?”
Courtland glanced at Kelet. The boy didn’t look up. Jerel never had, not even during the beatings... “Yes, Prince,” he replied.
“Will you tell him I wish to see him?” Geoff smiled at Kelet, who whinnied self-consciously. To be smiled at, a sign of favor - and a DelMonde smile could light up a world. Did your mother tell you to be wary, Kelet? Courtland thought bitterly. And will you forget it under the rays of a warm Human smile, as Jerel did, to recall the words only when the smile turned dark with disapproval and a whip hit your back because you dared to call him ‘Noel’ in public?
“Of course, Prince. It may be late, however. Your father has much business to attend to.”
“That’s okay,” Geoff assured. “Come on, Kelet.”
Courtland watched them - Noel and Jerel - racing across the yard, then turned and headed for the Don’s office.
Del saw that Jerel was both upset and angry when he entered his office. His Consigliore’s greeting was curt, too business-like, and his head remained lowered. Del noticed that the golden horn glinted dangerously in the light of the office. He didn’t ask the trouble, not yet, but he was sure he knew its source: The young Equian that Taylor, Geoff’s tutor, had brought to Rigel as a pet for the Don’s son. If asked, Taylor would have pointed out that such pets were traditional for princes of the DelMonde line, almost family mascots. He wasn’t wrong. Del knew his father had owned a beautiful chestnut, and his grandfather a bay, his great-grandfather an Equian who was snow-white... He caught his own thoughts, chastising himself. Relan’s coat was a deep, reddish brown, he told himself. He wasn’t a ‘chestnut,’ not an animal. Geoffrey was definitely going to have to have a new tutor, especially since he was going to let Jerel kill Taylor. Such an obvious insult to his Consigliore could not be tolerated. That, of course, didn’t solve the problem of what to do with the boy. Del had already decided, but wanted to avoid the question for as long as possible. He stretched, casually sipping a glass of wine. “What’s the news from the shipyards, Jerel?” he asked.
“Production down since Mr. Thompson’s death,” Jerel replied statically. “Of course, your private production has increased in direct proportion. Thompson reports progress, but no major breakthroughs.” Before Del could comment, Jerel went on. “All shipments from the Hysteria have been secured, Captain Mrraal wishes to know if he can do anything else for Rigel’s Don. Governor Hasim reports all is well on Caros, your mining shipments have been graciously increased by Dmitris, sanctioned by all of Draco. Captain Sesek informs you that Spock has sent word of a major purge on the Enterprise, with a cryptic personal message: ‘Knowledge shared strengthens an alliance.’” Jerel paused to let the words sink in. Del opened his mouth to speak, and Jerel almost cut him off as he continued. “Your hawk was on the winning side of the purge, of course. There is a favorable report from Mr. Dallas on the Artemis -”
“Jerel,” Del interrupted sternly, “If I wanted a computer readout, I wouldn’t have asked you here.”
“ - and your son wishes to see you,” Jerel finished coldly, as though Del had not spoken. Del sighed. No way to let it go, is there, my friend? Not when ‘you’ and ‘your’ has replaced ‘our’ and ’ours’ in your speech pattern. His mind yearned to go over Spock’s ‘cryptic message,’ but there were things more important than business, even if it somehow concerned Sulu. He wasn’t sure, of course, but something - a feeling - said hawk.
But, first things first. Del sat forward, reaching out, gently lifting Jerel’s horn, forcing the icy blue eyes to look directly at him instead of along a weapon’s sight.
“Temper, Jerel,” he said softly. The reaction was not one he expected.
“I always keep my place, Don,” Jerel snapped. Del blinked. All the intimacy of the gesture had been lost on his Consigliore.
“Jerel, I meant...”
“Shall I send the Prince in, Don?”
Del studied the pain and shame and remembered hatred in Jerel’s eyes. It was so long ago, he thought wearily. Can’t you remember the lessons and forget the learning? Or have I yet to make it up to you? “I know what you’re angry about,” he tried again, “and we will discuss what’s to be done about it, but you have to understand...”
“The Prince, Don?” Jerel repeated frostily.
Del lost his temper. “Damn it, Courtland, do you think I have a choice?” he shouted, his fist striking the table between them.
“Yes!” Jerel hissed at him. “It’s the court pets who have none!”
They stared at each other for several minutes, then Jerel pivoted and left the office. DelMonde felt a sharp pain run through him as he realized his Consigliore’s back was tensed for a blow.
His head was bowed, his hands covering his eyes when Geoff came in. “Dad?” the young voice asked. Del looked up and smiled at his son.
“Yes, Geoff?”
The boy came up to him, throwing his arms around his neck in a bear hug. “Oh, Dad, Kelet’s so neat! Can I keep him, please?” Before Del could answer, Geoff went on. “I’ll take care of him, you can show me how, I promise, Dad, please? I really like him.”
DelMonde closed his eyes against the pain. Geoff had known he had been shocked and not too pleased with Taylor’s gesture, knew, too, that he’d been inclined to deny his son the gift. Can I keep him? I’ll take care of him. The question, the promise was so like his own father’s amused instructions so long ago: If you want to keep him, Noel, you have to learn to take care of him. And his own eager reply: I will, Father, I promise!
I kept my promise. I’ve ‘taken care’ of Jerel better than anyone ever intended. So how can I let my son make my promise a lie? Yet how can I avoid it? Can I teach Geoff to respect Kelet? How, if I say ‘yes, Geoff, you can keep him?’ And it has to be that way for Imperial eyes. Kelet has to be a pet, for now, until Geoff is old enough to understand. Can I make Jerel understand? Through all the pain, the bad memories... He sees himself and me, and I can’t blame him. The resemblances are uncanny. He might even be related to Kelet - blue-eyed palominos are rare - and look how you’re thinking, Noel! Teach that to your son? I have to, for now. I don’t have any choice! Jerel, please understand.
He opened his eyes, gazing into the eager face of his son.
“Yes, Geoff, you can keep him.”
The boy whooped with joy, smothering his father with kisses and hugs, then ran toward the door, shrieking, “Kelet, he says it’s okay!”
Jerel, my father says it’s okay.
Del closed his eyes again.
Courtland watched Kelet’s eyes following Geoffrey as the prince strode to his father’s office. They were hopeful, apprehensive, longing. Worshipping already. How long had it taken Jerel? What do children know? The boy had found someone to play with, someone with easy, vibrant affection, someone who wanted him. Who could blame him for his adoration? Then, or now?
I can, Courtland decided.
“Kelet,” he said.
The boy turned, eyes lowered. Intensive training, almost from birth. Never raise your eyes, your voice, your hand. Obey, submit, serve. Human grace allows you to eat, to live. Be grateful.
“Yes, sir?” the boy replied.
“Not ‘sir.’ My name is Courtland.”
“Yes, Mr. Courtland,” was the dutiful repetition.
“Look at me, child.”
Hesitant fear shone uneasily in the blue eyes as they slowly came up. Courtland knelt.
“Never be afraid to look at me, Kelet,” he said softly. “Or to talk to me. Or to come to me for anything.” The boy blinked uncomfortably, and Courtland could feel the reactions: fear of punishment, of a Human finding out, fear of Geoff not liking him anymore. Jerel’s thoughts, had anyone ever said such things to Jerel. He bit down on the anger. “I can protect you up to a point. Geoffrey’s father will at least listen to me. And you see that Geoffrey respects me. Come to me, Kelet, if you’re confused, or frightened. If you need anything, you can come to me.” He searched the wary blue eyes. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mr. Courtland.”
Jerel reached out, gently touching the boy’s cheek. He stroked the budding horn. They won’t do it to you, he thought fiercely. They did it to Jerel, but I won’t let them do it to you. “Trust me,” he whispered.
Kelet stared, unsure, but a spark of real understanding came into his eyes, and with it, the beginnings of bitterness. It hurt, but Courtland praised it. It was the only way to save him.
Then Geoff’s voice screeched, “Kelet, he says it’s okay!” and adoration returned to the boy’s eyes. For a moment, Courtland saw a 24 year old Noel telling a dangerous Equian Pirate what he had done and why - and saw adoration return to that Pirate’s blue eyes. Nothing has changed, Don. Why have I been so blind for so long?