For a long moment they stood there, face to face, panting as they broke the kiss. With a rebellious thrill, she considered dragging him over to the bed and allowing him to take her any way he wished. It would certainly be a more pleasant way to pass the time than awaiting --
“Ambassador, the shuttle has just been sighted. It will arrive in four minutes, thirty-two seconds,” came the voice of the senior docking officer from the holoscreen. “We await your arrival.”
“Oh, damn!” She cursed and turned toward the door, her lascivious fantasy banished by the call of duty.
Merrick pounded along beside her as they rushed through the corridors to the main lift.
Three minutes later, slightly winded but determined not to show it, Olivia peered up at the winking point of light that indicated the shuttle. Around her in a tight V formation, the rest of the DDC clustered. Olivia formed the point of the V, with Merrick slightly behind her to the right. Opposite them on the designated landing pad, an honor guard stood ready with particle-beam rifles.
The shuttle swelled rapidly in her vision, resolving itself from a mere glowing pinprick in the constant gloom to a child’s toy, and then into a full-sized conveyance. Its sleek, curved lines allowed for maximum aerodynamic capability in a wide range of different atmospheric conditions.
She studied it carefully, noting the telltale bulges of weapons ports at its nose, along each side, and to the rear. By Dusk standards, it was very odd indeed: ancient agreement prohibited weaponry on atmospheric craft constructed on the planet. From her readings of Terran history, she knew better than to expect that even a Terran craft on a mission of diplomacy would be unarmed, however. The ominous message was clear and unambiguous.
Attack us if you dare, but know that we will exact a price for it
.
She shivered from a psychic chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the air.
Merrick whispered in her ear. “Are you all right?”
She nodded tersely, not trusting her voice. Now she could hear the energetic whine of the magnetic ion engines that powered the shuttle, and her heart thudded into a faster rhythm. Any second now…
The shuttle touched down as lightly as a bird landing on a twig. Whoever piloted the craft, they were obviously extremely skilled.
After a long, tense moment, the airlock nearest her opened with a long hiss of escaping air. A metallic ramp covered with dark, textured material intended to prevent foot slips unspooled from the ship with a metallic whir. Framed in the entry, a pair of bulky humanoid figures in powered armor stood with plasma rifles at a rigid position of port arms, their fingers off the firing studs. The instant the leading edge of the ramp touched the ground, they stalked down the walkway, peeling off neatly at the end to stand at attention facing each other with their rifles raised in the traditional vertical salute. Another pair appeared behind them, repeating the procedure, and another behind them, until a squad of a half-dozen armored figures reflected their opposite numbers in the silvered domes of their helmets.
A short man with a bald head and an earnest demeanor, clad in a tunic and pants of dark russet, scurried down the gangplank as the last soldiers set their stances.
“Ambassador Gunnarson, people of Dusk, I present to you his excellency, Ambassador Muhamed Quadri Al-Aziz, representative of the government of Terra and the Interstellar Confederacy!” he announced, sweat popping out in large beads from his shiny pate.
A tall, lean figure in sand-colored robes stepped forward, gliding down the ramp with a dancer’s grace and the quick, sharp gaze of a raptor. The hot wind caught his robes and whipped them around his ankles like a flag. His head turned slightly, taking in everything around him before snapping back over the assembled crowd in a series of double-takes. Olivia had the unsettling feeling that Al-Aziz saw everything and nothing at the same time, but would be prepared to take action on less than no warning. The corners of her mouth drooped slightly in distaste. Was the ambassador expecting an assassination?
Being prepared to take on an assassin is probably not the worst thing he could do, or
you
either
, a calm, detached part of her mind noted. Re
member what happened to Trelawney
.
The thought tore away the last tatters of a good mood more efficiently than feeding it into an industrial-sized debris shredder.
She narrowed her eyes at the figure on Al-Aziz’s left, a resplendent figure wearing the traditional attire of the Terran Marine Corps. Beneath his brimmed officer’s cap with the gold trim, his broad shoulders and tall, lean build flattered the uniform. The eagles on his epaulets flashed as if newly minted. Crisp white gloves covered his hands. On one hip rode a sheathed saber, while a compact hand weapon occupied the same space on the other side. His uniform was all brass and flash and sparkle, but something about the bearing of the man wearing it muted the pomp and accentuated the nobility at the same time.
Everything else faded from her sight as she zeroed in on the Marine.
His face was smooth and unlined, although bronzed by exposure to wind, sun, and interstellar radiation. The perfect, neutral mask of his expression gave away nothing of his thoughts. His dark eyes never moved, but she somehow knew he saw more than Al-Aziz could ever hope to for all his suspicious glowering around. If she had to take a bet on which man was most likely to survive a hostile encounter, she felt reasonably confident that the smart money would be on the stone-faced Marine and not the dour diplomat.
She stepped forward to meet the ambassador, her hand extended in what her research had told her was a traditional Terran greeting. “Welcome to Dusk, Ambassador. I am Olivia Gunnarson, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of this world. It is my great pleasure to finally meet you.”
Al-Aziz stared at the outstretched hand with apparent shock. After a long moment he reached forward and took it, his expression hinting he’d rather have stuck it in a basketful of live cobras. “Thank you, Ambassador,” he replied coldly. “Your greeting is… most gracious.”
“We have quarters prepared for you and your retinue, Ambassador,” Olivia continued blithely. “I am sure you would prefer to rest and settle in before we begin the negotiations. However, before we proceed, would you make the members of your delegation known to me and my people, so we may welcome you appropriately?”
* * *
Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani
? Pete thought crazily as the introductions proceeded. In typical diplomatic fashion, the lowest-ranking members of the assembled party were presented first, moving with agonizing slowness up the ladder of power.
The Bible verse was the only thing he could think of as he caught sight of the Dusk ambassador, even though he was acutely aware of the discomfort the environment was wreaking upon him already.
Between the sweat forming under his cap and the close, choking heat of the planet’s surface, Pete felt like he was slowly boiling alive inside his uniform. As if that wasn’t bad enough, his groin stirred with interest. The tri-vid images of her hadn’t misrepresented Olivia Gunnarson in any way, but they had utterly and epically failed at reproducing the sheer, vibrant
life
of this woman. Her teal-blue eyes showed her feelings to him as clearly as a beacon. Beneath the sheer fabric of her ceremonial robe he could just make out clean, sweeping curves and intriguing angles that made him long to run his fingers over them to test if they felt as true as they looked.
She walked toward the delegation, and his senses spun with delight at every step she took. She made simply putting one foot in front of the other a delectable feast for the senses, with that robe hugging her hips and whispering around her ankles. If there was any justice in the universe, someone was taking a tri-vid of this so he could play this moment back in slow motion at his leisure.
He heard every word she said, and they fell like individual crystal chimes against his ears, but his gaze was firmly locked on her full, pouty lips and cheekbones so high and sharp they put even the Martian mountains to shame. The kind of beauty she wore so effortlessly was never intended to be looked upon by mere mortals, and least of all not by a roughneck Devil Dog whose entire life consisted of being ready to kill or die at a moment’s notice to defend whatever the Powers That Be decided needed defending this week.
He decided he’d treasure this glimpse until the moment he died, perfectly happy and thankful that he had at least gotten to see such feminine glory once in his life. While he’d had no shortage of female companions, and few of them had been less than striking, this was a woman truly worth dying for, like that woman…
Hera
?
Holly
? Helen,
that
was it
… who was reputed to have been so beautiful the ancient Greeks started a war and sent a thousand ships to plunder an entire country just to bring her back to their shores.
He’d always thought that particular story was a myth at best and a joke at worst.
Now, looking at Ambassador Olivia Gunnarson, he didn’t feel nearly so sure.
“And this is Colonel Pedro Silva, lately of MCRD San Diego. Colonel Silva is serving on this delegation as my military attaché. He will be the one advising me on all matters martial.” Al-Aziz’s dry-ice voice brought him crashing back to reality.
The ambassador extended her hand gracefully for him to shake. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Colonel,” she said calmly.
A mad impulse seized Pete, one he couldn’t resist any more than a moth can resist flying into the soothing blue aura of a bug zapper. He took the proffered hand, but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips like an actor in an old bi-vid from Hollywood’s Golden Age. The electric zing across his lips as they touched the warm, soft, sweet-smelling flesh of her hand sent a jolt of erotic awareness from his lips down to his groin.
He could have stood like that all day, but instead he straightened and offered a crisp hand salute. According to regs, he should have drawn the saber and presented it vertically to salute her, but the distinctly wary gaze of the man behind her and to her right suggested such a move, no matter how well-intended, would be a supremely bad idea. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Ambassador. Your tri-vids don’t do you justice.”
The lean, handsome bodyguard scowled at him, brushing a stray strand of dark hair off his forehead. “You are too free with your lips, Colonel. I suggest you not make that mistake again.”
“Merrick, it’s all right,” the ambassador told him, in much the same tone one might use to shush a dog who was acting unnecessarily ornery. She shot a glance at Merrick and then turned her attention back to Pete. “Apparently the colonel holds to a much older tradition of how to greet a lady.” Was he imagining it, or had she felt the erotic tension between them too?
She gave him a slight, conspiratorial wink.
Before he could say or do anything more idiotic, like ask her to marry him, Al-Aziz cleared his throat. “As you can imagine, Ambassador, we have much to discuss, and I fear our time is limited.”
Olivia inclined her head in a regal gesture of concurrence. “Very well, Ambassador. Let us conclude the introductions and I will have our junior diplomats escort yours to their quarters.”
Merrick stepped forward. “I am Merrick, the ambassador’s bodyguard,” he announced brashly. Pete didn’t miss the sharp look Merrick cast at him, a look he clearly intended to impale the other man. That look said he did a lot more than just guard Olivia’s lush body, and anyone who intended to supplant him would have a fight on his hands. “Where she goes, I go, at all times and under all circumstances.”
Al-Aziz’s eyes brightened, and a knowing expression curtained his face. He smiled condescendingly. “How very interesting. Colonel Silva, here, serves a very similar function for me.”
Pete didn’t break his bearing, but his mind immediately began to race.
Did that hawk-faced asshole just imply that he’s
fucking
me
?
Merrick snickered. Olivia’s smile slipped away behind her serenely diplomatic expression.
“Then I trust Merrick and Colonel Silva will have much to discuss.”
“Of that, I have no doubt,” Al-Aziz said coldly. “Shall we go inside, then?”
The two ambassadors started toward the portal. Merrick fell in behind Olivia, close enough that there could be no mistaking the proprietary interest he took in her safety. Pete followed Al-Aziz, leaving enough distance between them to clarify that not only did the ambassador have no claim on him but that which duty demanded, but that Pete did not consider himself to be properly part of the ambassador’s party at all.
Merrick favored him with a slight sneer and then turned his head and eyes straight forward. Meanwhile, the diplomats talked in quiet murmurs as they moved through the corridors.
Pete caught himself staring at familiar things with nearly open-mouthed awe. Smooth, gleaming metal lined many of the corridors, but some of them had been hewn out of native rock and polished to a high shine. He could clearly make out the paths in the centers of the latter corridors, where generations of feet had worn the stone smooth and polished. The exterior walls featured long panels of some clear material that allowed a panoramic view of the dizzying drop from the higher levels of the Aerie down to the dark plains below. On the horizon, a bright blue glow flamed, Dusk’s sun flirting with what passed for dawn here without ever actually managing to rise. Closer in, the lights of Galacia flickered and shimmered far below, each light marking the presence of a handful of humans. Farther out, toward the planetary north, he could just make out the cliffs that denoted the boundary between solid land and the sea beyond.
The scene was so utterly alien to him, a sojourner on a dozen alien worlds, that he could scarcely restrain the urge to gawk. It was beautiful and terrifying and majestic and frightening, kind of the way he’d always imagined hell looking. Everyone said it was supposed to be a terrifying, foul place, but if he were ever placed in charge of the netherworld, he would want it to look much like this did.