Forever's Not Enough (Galactic League of Planets) (12 page)

He knew she was well into midlife, somewhere north of a hundred, and she still looked thirty, which given the current state of healthcare, wasn’t all that unusual. It was just that she carried it so well. It pissed him off that even while she was ridiculing him, his cock seemed to have a mind of its own.

“Well, you’ve had your laugh, Lucy. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

When she sauntered toward her D unit, her image stepping out of the wall to tower over him, a short black riding whip snapping on her thigh, he knew he’d asked the wrong question. Her perfect white teeth shined behind her sneer, and snapping the whip across her open palm, she leaned in and said, “I think you know the drill. You’ve been a very bad boy, Blake.”

* * * *

He’d managed to stun one guard with a blow between the shoulder blades and now they had him shackled in an ornately adorned room standing in front of a table before Zad. When he pulled, his arms bulging, the two guards stepped close and nudged him with their weapons.

Blind with rage he yelled, “Where the hell have you taken her?”

“Now, now, Sergeant Hillsborough, you really shouldn’t be worried about the princess. You’ve completed your mission! And, might I add, you’ve done a wonderful job! Why, I’m sure our Premier will want to pin the Medal of Honor on your chest himself!”

“You know I don’t work for the Zandill!”

“But I saw it with my own eyes. Your chairman said it himself at a news conference,” came out in a sarcastic slur.

He was getting tired of the slimy bastard, “That’s bullshit! Besides…” Hill turned brusquely, managing to knock one of the guards off balance and stuck his shackled hands out, “…is this any way to treat a hero of Zandill?”

“But the bomb you placed at the Corporation dinner. Why, they’re still running the footage on the news. I saw you there sitting in the very chair that blew up! I really must say again how wonderful it is to meet the most famous Zandill spy in history.”

He saw red. This time when his big arms bulged, he was rewarded with a satisfying snap and the chain that ran from his ankles to his wrists broke. The guards scrambled away and brought their weapons up, a muzzle resting against each side of his head. He didn’t care. Struggling to take a step, he leaned across the table until it groaned under his weight, looked Zad in the eye, and said in a low menacing voice, “If the princess is harmed in any way, I will kill you myself. Very slowly.”

The only sound in the room was his own breathing and he watched in amazement as Zad smiled broadly, jumped up from his seat, and gave an order to the two guards.

When the shackles fell away, he grabbed one guard around the neck and managed to kick the other in the groin. Pulling his arm tight, he watched Zad stand passively, still smiling, and realized the guards weren’t putting up much of a fight.

“Where is she?” he bellowed.

He looked suspiciously at the other guard, who was standing out of reach with a pained expression on his face.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned in time to catch Zad stepping toward him with a very ornate Zandill Warrior knife in his outstretched hand. Tightening his arm around his captive’s neck he dragged the struggling warrior back a step to put more space between him and Zad.

“Stop! I’ll kill him! Then I’ll kill you!”

“And I believe you would,” Zad stated in a matter-of-fact tone just before laying the knife on the corner of the table nearest Hill.

He brought his hand up in a quick chopping motion and hit his captive under the chin with his forearm, provoking a coughing fit. In one swift move, he flung the guard toward the other and jumped, sweeping the knife up in his right hand.

Before he could take another step, Zad raised his hand and waved the two guards out of the room. It must be a trap. Knife at the ready, Hill looked quickly around the chamber for more Warriors.

“I must apologize, Sergeant Hillsborough. I had to know.”

When he fixed Zad again, he took in the man’s passive stance, his hands at his side, feet planted flat on the hard stone floor, his expression neutral, and looked around the big room one more time.

“You see, Sergeant Hillsborough, things aren’t always what they seem. You could well have been a spy sent to us by the Corporation.”

Then he heard her lilting laugh and spun on his heel to find Peenzan walking into the room in the company of the first Zandill female he’d ever seen. A stunning woman who carried herself with pride, almost stately, who was laughing at something Peenzan must have said.

Turning back to Zad, he found the man standing at the table once again smiling benevolently.

“What is this? What’s going on here?”

“I really must apologize once more, Sergeant. It took either a fool, or a very brave and desperate man to do what you did. I had to know which it was. Or, of course, a spy.”

Peenzan was at his side grasping his arm, and the moment she purred softly he felt his muscles relax, “It’s alright, my love, I’m fine.”

“But…”

Zad stepped up and offered his hand a second time. “Again let me apologize.” He bowed deeply. “It is my honor, as Premier of Zandill, to welcome you to our planet, Sergeant Hillsborough.”

“But…”

The Zandill woman had stepped to the premier’s side and announced something in her native tongue. Peenzan translated, “And now we must eat. It is the Zandill custom.”

* * * *

In another chamber at a much larger table surrounded by Zandill and music from another world, she looked across the broad expanse of fine china, sparkling crystal, and gleaming silver, and watched Hill perched awkwardly on his chair running his spoon through his soup.

He seems so certain and self-confident, yet completely uncomfortable with the situation. She didn’t read fear, an emotion she doubted he knew. Impatience?

She smiled at the premier’s sister sitting beside Hill, tasted her soup, and went over what she could recall of Meline history and their relationship with Zandill.

She knew that the Meline people were the first to discover light-beam riding, and in turn, the first to venture out of their own solar system and wander the galaxy. Earth and Rangdon had been visited, off and on, over the last 10,000 years, but Zandill had remained hidden until Earth, more precisely the Corporation, had discovered how to bend space and perfected the instant transport system that dominated galactic travel today.

And Zandill as a planet had remained shrouded in mystery even after entering the Galactic Union of Trade and Investigation. Very few, if any, off-planet visitors were allowed. A planet half the size of Meline with a known population of less than thirty-two million, their history still hadn’t been absorbed into the great Galactic Union history banks for correlation with all known histories to further galactic understanding of how life in the universe evolved and migrated.

Their relationship with Zandill was relatively young, less than 200 years, and a diplomatic incident almost 70 years ago, just before she’d been born, had brought an abrupt end to what had been a flourishing cultural and economic exchange.

An odd mix of medieval earth and something like the Handrac industrial revolution period, Zandill was an eclectic mix of landlords, war lords and technology lords.

From feudalism to capitalism to technal-ism, the face of the planet and its people had changed drastically in the last 100 years. And, as luck would have it, the expansion of capitalism and a new industrial base had put a strain on an already weak eco system, leaving Zandill on the cusp of a meltdown with constant droughts, water shortages, dry winds that hampered crop production, and lightening storms that provided a source of fire for the tinderbox the surface had become.

Then they’d become aggressive, or so the story went. In a state visit to Meline to discuss aid in the form of keely-landac crystals, abundant and unused on the King moon, to stabilize and rebuild their eco system, the very premier who was lavishing them with food and drink, had kidnapped her aunt and was responsible for the death of her aunt’s life mate.

There had been angry words, an angrier war, and a permanent break in diplomatic ties between the two worlds that was still in place today.

Slicing a bite of lundan yellow meat, she dipped it in sauce and contemplated the man who had brought such contempt and anger to both worlds. She found his features harsh, but oddly attractive in spite of no body hair, a purple tinged scaly skin that was smooth and featureless beyond a spider web of overlapping contact points, his eyes intelligent, and at times, mirthful. He carried himself with the measured grace of a warrior, but did not have the build of one. Premier by birthright spoke of royal blood, but he lacked the arrogance and disdain many royals harbored.

And his sister was a delight. Comfortable with her position, even witty, and concerned first with the Zandill people, second with her brother the premier, and lastly, if at all, with herself.

She felt a need to speak with her mother and learn more.

When the Premier stood and raised his goblet, and with a warm smile in her direction, said, “To the lovely Princess Peenzan. A Meline flower on this godforsaken rock! Stokah! And hopefully not the last we will see!”

She smiled and replied with the Meline equivalent, “Hytonne!”

Turning to Hill, the premier continued, “And to a man, even if he is a mere earthling.” And a smattering of good-natured laughter traveled around the table. “I believe him to be a most worthy advisor, and if such a thing is possible in the corporation, a man of honor! To Sergeant Hillsborough! Stokah!”

She felt it start and blushed, hoping no one else caught the soft purr of pride that rattled her chest. At the same time she felt a tug of anguish when she saw Hill raise his goblet awkwardly and join in. No, my Hill is not a man of presumptions and pride. He is a simple man of honor and deed.

When her purr deepened, she did not try to hide it.

* * * *

“Well, I think we must act quickly. What do you think, Blake?”

Sitting at his D screen in his cramped quarters on the Meline moon, he cringed at the question. He hated it when his opinion was sought. It meant only one thing. That blame would follow if things didn’t go as planned. It would be his head that rolled if the insurgence failed. As well, he knew, the reward would be just as great if he could pull this off.

“I think we have no choice. We must move quickly before the Meline learn the truth.”

“My thoughts exactly. Now, how do you plan on taking care of this, well, situation?”

He watched the chairman drag his finger through his tray of Rangdon spice and wondered why he even bothered to report to the man.

When he caught sight of Lucy Lighton over the chairman’s shoulder, he knew exactly why.

* * * *

The room was dark with huge windows on three of four walls that looked out on a dry and barren landscape of exposed black soil dotted with stunted trees that were twisted and sad looking. She could barely hear the howl of the wind and watched sheets of dust swirl from tree to tree.

A traditional fire of chopped roughhewn wood burned and crackled in a fireplace on the fourth wall and it was just the four of them.

Spaced around the walls above and beside the windows hung weapons and trophies, a strange and startling display of Zandill wildlife that spoke of a long history of hunting and aggression. On a table she saw a small collection of medals, and on another a collection of static 3D pictures of Zandill men in uniforms and state dress.

The furnishings were utilitarian and made of roughhewn wood. The finery of the state dinner had been replaced by the bare essentials of a man’s room, or she thought, the lair of a warrior.

Her goblet was heavy and worn, the floor covered in the resplendent fur of some animal, and the air smelled of centuries of sweat and wood smoke.

Her purr had settled but not subsided completely, and she took pride in watching Hill follow the Premier around the room, taking interest in each artifact’s history as family stories and antidotes were told.

He looks at ease, comfortable at last. A full head taller than the premier, his shoulders twice as wide, they made an odd pair hefting swords and bludgeons, and sipping Zandill brandy.

The premier’s sister had left to tend to something and Peenzan was growing impatient, and given the state of things between her thighs, needy. When Hill’s eyes found her and he smiled, she stepped up to listen.

“…my grandfather. He carried it during the dark-star conflict over 500 of your earth years ago. A beautiful piece of craftsmanship.”

She watched Hill heft the sword and swing it away from them while saying, “I really don’t know much of your history, but something has been bothering me for a few days and that’s why we’re here.”

The premier smiled. He knew this wasn’t the reason for his visitor’s presence, but it was a place to start. “Ah, you’ve come for a lesson in history. And Zandill history, at that! Wonderful!”

She watched Hill sheath the weapon and waited.

“Well, I’ve fought Zandill Death Warriors. I was involved in the conflict at the UC moon base a few years ago.”

“Yes.” The premier was attentive. “Most unfortunate, that. Some, I believe you would call them rabble-rousers, that thought we would be better off expelling the UC and keeping something we have absolutely no use for to ourselves.”

“Well, that’s the part of history I don’t understand. Why would the Zandill, a proud people, a fiercely independent people, allow a foreign world to fight a conflict for them? More importantly, something that should have been a very personal conflict, at that?”

She slid her hand around her lover’s arm and noticed he had tensed slightly.
This is it? This is what we’ve come for? So he can ask a question about the protocols of war and war making?
She’d had enough and was prepared to say so, until she caught a defiant glance followed by one of resignation from the premier.

When the premier finally spoke, the life, the spark of mirth, the very soul was gone from his voice. “Yes,” he agreed, “Why would we?”

“I’ve made arrangements.” The premier’s sister came sweeping into the room. “You will be staying in…”