CHAPTER THREE
BUT MEKASHE DID realize he’d been too aggressive with her, when he noticed that she gave him her other hand to hold, not the right one. The virtual ball he carried in his pocket, to protect against unexpected telepathic intrusions, blanked out Jasmine’s thoughts. However, he’d seen the pain in her expression when she drew back from him the night before and he’d noticed her discomfort this morning. It was disturbing, especially when she rejoined them with a dress in a bag and let slip that she’d seen the ship’s surgeon.
“Oh, it was nothing,” she lied. “I slammed the drawer on my hand last night, but the doctor mended it,” she added quickly, and chided herself for blurting out the news of her visit to the surgery. Mekashe looked drawn and worried. “I’m okay. Really!” she added to reassure him.
He started to apologize, but she only laughed and said she wanted to try on her new dress. She left them staring at the chessboard.
* * *
MEKASHE WAS CRESTFALLEN. He wanted very much to hold Jasmine. But it might take extra precautions, especially now that he knew he’d damaged her hand.
He used the communicator this time, instead of the holon, to speak to Hahnson directly.
“My strength has always been an issue,” he told the physician. “Even among my friends, when I was a boy, I had to be careful. But I bruised Jasmine’s hand because I was overly...stimulated.” He hesitated. “Is there some way, some covert way, that I can lessen her impact on me, just for a little while?”
“Dravelzium,” Hahnson said easily. “Two ccs, in the artery at your neck,” he added. “The ship’s surgeon should have the chemicals necessary to prepare it. Would you like me to speak to him for you? I won’t mention the woman,” he added, smiling to himself.
Mekashe relaxed. “That would be kind of you. As you know, we have issues with outworld physicians. Not with you,” he said, with a brown-eyed smile, which denoted the affection that all Cehn-Tahr had for the Morcai’s medical chief of staff.
“That’s only because I belong to the Holconcom,” Hahnson teased.
Mekashe hesitated. He was having second thoughts. “It may provoke questions...”
“I was just thinking that myself,” Hahnson replied, interrupting him. “You hold a high position in the Cehn-Tahr government, and she’s the daughter of the first Terravegan ambassador to Memcache. I’m certain the ship’s surgeon wouldn’t gossip, but the confidentiality rule sometimes escapes people who work in the infirmary.”
“A thought that presented itself.” Mekashe grimaced. “Is there another way?”
“I can send you an injector and several of the discs for it,” Hahnson said. “It’s not difficult to do. I’ll send detailed instructions with it. Do you have access to a holo printer?”
“I have one in my quarters. The emperor insisted when he made me promise to take the scenic route home. Any urgent documents could be forwarded to me without the risk of hacked communications.”
“A novel solution. I’ll forward the whole package directly to you. We won’t have to involve the ship’s surgeon.” Hahnson sighed. “I fear that he might ask some serious questions. Humans only use dravelzium to tranquilize large mammals, particularly on outlying farms.”
“Which Terravegans have no part of.” Mekashe chuckled. “They’re all vegetarians.”
“Not quite all,” Hahnson replied. “I have it on good authority that Professor Dupont—excuse me, Ambassador Dupont—is quite fond of a good steak. Although I don’t know about his daughter’s dietary habits.” He frowned. “Do you dine with them?”
Mekashe shook his head. “I hesitate to share such intimate knowledge of our culture, even with humans to whom I grow close. Our comrades in the Holconcom already know that we eat our food raw and whole.”
“It might be a conversation killer over dinner with humans who don’t know that,” Hahnson murmured drily.
“Of a certainty.” He hesitated. “I was on leave when Dtimun had the Cehn-Tahr reveal themselves to their crewmates. Do you remember when the human contingent of the Holconcom saw us as we are for the first time?” he added. “Was it...traumatic?”
“Well, no,” Hahnson said. “Not actually. But you have to remember, all of us—us meaning my original self—and you, were in the Rojok prison camp, Ahkmau, together. We had the memory of the sacrifices and horror of that place. It outweighed any surprise at the real face of the Cehn-Tahr. We were so fond of all of you by then that it wouldn’t have mattered to us if you’d had two heads and three legs.”
Mekashe smiled. “As we became fond of all of you. I do have memories of the prison camp, because I was a member of the Holconcom at the time, although a very junior one. It was traumatic. There were many atrocities.”
“They were nightmarish,” Hahnson said. He studied Mekashe’s face in the Tri-D setup and frowned slightly. “Is there a more pressing reason that you need the dravelzium?” he asked delicately.
Mekashe hesitated. “I haven’t experienced any of the mating behaviors,” he replied. “However...I held Jasmine’s hand and I think I bruised it. She is delicately built.”
Hahnson smiled. “Normal humans are weaker than Cehn-Tahr. You might consider disabling some of your microcyborgs. Just to be on the safe side.”
He frowned. He had no microcyborgs. Just as Dtimun had the advanced genetic restructuring, so did Mekashe. He had wholeheartedly accepted the modifications, without hesitation, in the past, when he joined the military as an adolescent, shortly before the deaths of both his parents.
The ship alarms sounded. Hahnson glanced at his computer console. “Sorry, have to run. We’re chasing insurgents in the Eridanus system. I hope we can avoid Eridanus Three. Even if Kanthor’s there, we could be eaten by some of his less welcoming brothers,” he added with a chuckle, making reference to the giant cats, the galot, from which Cehn-Tahr had gained genetic material, including psychic abilities. Kanthor was Dtimun’s childhood playmate.
“That would be unfortunate,” Mekashe replied. He grinned. “In such case, you should all consume vegetables before you make port. No self-respecting galot will eat a vegetarian, on principle.”
Hahnson laughed out loud. “I’ll remind everybody. Listen, I’ll get this package right to your holo printer. And good luck!”
“Thank you.”
He cut the connection, and then worried about what Hahnson had said. He had no microcyborgs to disable. Hahnson had no need to know about his personal physiology, because there was always a Cularian surgeon aboard ship, who dealt with the Cehn-Tahr and Jebob and even Rojok casualties that sometimes were lifted by the Morcai to medical ships. Hahnson didn’t know that Mekashe needed no augmentation of his true strength. He wondered why he would need to weaken himself. Were humans so fragile?
He recalled Jasmine’s look of pain when his hand had tightened on hers the night before and grimaced. Apparently, he was going to have to modify his strength in order not to harm her. Well, the dravelzium would suffice, he was certain. He just had to restrain his enthusiasm.
* * *
HAHNSON’S PACKAGE APPEARED minutes later. Mekashe opened it and read the instructions carefully to make sure he understood the proper procedure for administering the drug.
“Be careful of the dosage,” Hahnson cautioned in a holomessage that accompanied the dravelzium. “Too little can be as dangerous to her, and too much can make you very drowsy. I’d start with one cc and see how it affects you. I’d do it in private, as well.” Hahnson grinned. “You don’t want to pass out and have her dragging you back to your quarters by a leg.”
Mekashe laughed uproariously at the image that presented itself. He took the precious discs and put them in his personal safe. One could never be too careful with powerful drugs. He saved out one of the 1-cc discs for later, just before the opera. He’d never anticipated an evening so much. Already, Jasmine had become part of his life.
* * *
HE DRESSED CAREFULLY in his most formal suit, a black one that flattered his pale golden skin and black hair. He looked very correct, he told himself, smiling at his virtual reflection. His hair, thick and soft, was in a conventional cut, like the humans wore. When he transformed to his natural form, it was like a mane that swept back from his face and down his back. Like his cousin Rhemun’s, it was gloriously curly, a genetic legacy from their forefathers.
Unlike Rojoks, whose hair signified rank by its length, Cehn-Tahr had only personal preference to consider. Mekashe had enjoyed long hair when he noticed that Dr. Edris Mallory seemed entranced by Commander Rhemun’s long, curly black hair that he wore to his waist in back. But growing his hair hadn’t provoked the same reaction in Edris, who was in love with Rhemun. It had been a huge disappointment to find that the pretty little blonde physician didn’t share his infatuation.
Now, however, he didn’t mind. He had Jasmine, who was the embodiment of dreams. He looked forward to the opera, which he’d never attended in his life. He’d heard some of his comrades bewail the experience as earsplitting misery which they endured because they were fond of their shipmates. Mekashe was going to keep an open mind. It wasn’t the affair, it was the company that he was going to keep that warmed his heart.
He presented himself at Jasmine’s door precisely when the ship’s intercommunications hailed the six bells the Duponts had told him about.
Jasmine opened the door, and Mekashe’s breath sighed out in wonder.
She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen in his life. She wore gold, a soft fabric that fell in folds to her ankles, with a high neckline and short sleeves. Over it was a cape of the same material, secured by a white fur collar and clasp. The fur smelled of mammal. He’d read that the humans still wore fur accessories for fashion, although these were Tri-D creations, not taken from live creatures.
“Is it...all right?” Jasmine asked worriedly, because his expression was troubling.
“You look quite incredibly beautiful,” he said in a soft, deep tone. “You take my breath away.”
She beamed. Her pale blue eyes sparkled like jewels. “Thank goodness. I was afraid I’d dressed inappropriately.” She grimaced. “The salesman said it was rather risqué.”
He frowned.
“Daring,” she modified. She flushed.
“Why?” he asked, because he could see no evidence of that.
“Well...it’s this.” She turned around. Her beautiful, smooth back was bare to the waist.
The sight of that exquisite skin had a very formidable effect on Mekashe, who was now very grateful for Hahnson’s prescription. What might have provoked an alarming behavior was tamed, so that all he did was smile.
“It is perfectly appropriate,” he assured her when she turned back. He leaned down a little. “What the salesman meant is that to some cultures, a bare nape—much less a bare back—is extremely stimulating.”
Her eyes widened. “Is your culture one of those?”
He nodded. “To us, a bare nape is very exciting.”
She caught her breath. “Oh dear. Should I go and change?” she asked at once, not wanting to make her new friend uncomfortable.
He laughed out loud. “Most certainly not. The effect is tantalizing, but not overpowering. Shall we go?”
Her father paused behind his daughter with a rare paper book in his hand. “Leaving now? Have fun.” He kissed Jasmine’s cheek. “Chess tomorrow?” he asked Mekashe.
“Definitely. After breakfast.”
“I’ll warm up the chess pieces.” He smiled and walked away.
* * *
“YOUR FATHER READS books made of pulpwood,” Mekashe remarked on the way to the theater.
“Yes. He has a collection of them. They’re very rare. He said that no electronic book has the feel and smell of the real thing. He paid a fortune for them.”
“Paper pulp.” Mekashe shook his head, smiling. “We revere our forests. We consider that they have a culture, even some form of sentience. It would never occur to us to slaughter one for a commercial product.”
She stopped and looked up at him worriedly, afraid that she’d offended him.
“We consider that the culture of other species does not conform with our own, and we make allowances.” He hesitated. “Did you think we might cage your father for public punishment for owning a book?” he added at her consternation, laughing.
“Well...” She smiled shyly. “I wasn’t sure. We know so little of your culture.”
“You will learn more, as we go along,” he promised. “Now. Tell me about this thing called opera.”
She enlightened him on the way to the event.
They were in line when he spoke again. “It will be a new experience for me.”
“Don’t you have opera?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Our music is mostly instrumental,” he replied. “We have artists who paint with sound, who—” he searched for the right word “—who make visual canvases which, when touched, produce music.”
“That sounds almost magical,” she said.
He nodded. “We have a sector called Kolmankash, where exotic tech is produced. We have many inventions that would seem like the arcane to other cultures.”
“I’ve heard of Kolmankash! I would love to see a canvas that sang.” She sighed.
“Soon,” he promised, and she beamed.
* * *
THEY WERE SEATED. The orchestra began tuning up. Mekashe wished he could cover his ears. If this was opera, he was already disenchanted and not looking forward to an evening of this assault on his hearing.
“They’re just tuning up,” Jasmine whispered, when she noted his almost-human expression of distaste. “It’s not opera. Not yet.”
He let out the breath he’d been holding. “Very well.”
Her small hand slid over his big one on the seat beside her. He turned and looked down into her eyes as his own hand curled very gently around it and a jolt of feeling like an electric shock went through his body in a hot wave.
She felt it, too. He didn’t need to be telepathic to know that. Her eyes were full of her feelings. He could hear her heartbeat, quick and unsteady. He could hear her breathing stick in her chest. He could feel the ripple of sensation go through her at the contact. If he was entranced, she certainly was. His eyes met hers and neither looked away.
He was grateful for the dravelzium. Without it, he’d have carried her out of the theater to the nearest closed room. In his long life, he’d felt the sensation only a handful of times, mostly with totally inappropriate females. This one would be eminently acceptable to his culture and his Clan. He was certain of it. An ambassador’s daughter, especially the first Terravegan ambassador’s daughter, would be thought of as an aristocrat. And he was also certain that the racial element would not present a problem. Jasmine was so beautiful that no one would protest at the coupling.
The clapping of other concertgoers interrupted the eye contact. They both laughed self-consciously and turned their attention to the stage.
The orchestra began to play. Mekashe was fascinated by the arrangement of notes. He’d never been exposed to human music. The humans aboard the Morcai used earphones when they listened to virtual music, so he hadn’t heard any. But this was worthy of Kolmankash itself.
“Beautiful,” he whispered.
She relaxed. She knew that he’d been reluctant. Probably he’d been told that opera was a form of torture, because some human men felt that way about it. She was glad that he could share this with her. It was another thing they’d have in common, a love of music. This, Madama Butterfly by Puccini, was her favorite opera.
She felt his fingers contract. Hers tensed, but he loosened his grip immediately and shot her a look of silent apology. She smiled. At least, this time it didn’t produce broken bones. He’d probably realized that he was much stronger than she was, and he was making allowances. It had to mean that he cared. She certainly did. He was the most wonderful thing in her life. The first man. The first humanoid, she corrected. She’d never even had a real date before. Her father had been very protective. But he trusted her with Mekashe, which meant a lot.
* * *
THEY LISTENED TO the opera quietly. When the female singer came to “Un Bel Di,” and hit the extremely high note that only a first soprano could hope to reach, she heard Mekashe’s faint intake of breath, even as tears rolled down her own cheeks. The song was so exquisite that it was almost painful to hear. Imagine, she thought, being able to produce so much emotion with nothing more than an arrangement of musical tones.
* * *
MEKASHE WAS SILENT when they filed out with the other patrons, after explosive applause and five curtain calls.
“What do you think?” she asked.
He looked down at her with a smile. “I think that I will enjoy opera very much. Is it possible to obtain a recording of this one?”
“Yes, it is. I’ll gladly lend you mine until Daddy can have one sent to you from Terravega. They aren’t available on the Nexus, I’m afraid.”
“I would be most grateful,” he replied.
She looked down at their linked hands. He was very strong. The grip didn’t hurt, but it was firmer than it should have been. She wondered if he’d been around humans much. He seemed surprised that she was so fragile, compared to him.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked at once, when he saw where her gaze had fallen.
“Not at all,” she said.
But he loosened his grip, just a little. He tugged her to one side of the crowd filing out of the auditorium, and his eyes were a solemn blue. “If I do, you must tell me. Don’t be afraid of offending me—you won’t. I would not hurt you for all the galaxy.”
Her heart soared. She smiled up at him with sparkling, soft blue eyes. “I know that. I’ll tell you,” she promised.
His eyes narrowed on her face. “I had no idea that humans were so fragile,” he said softly.
She smiled. “I’m afraid it’s probably just me. I’m sort of fragile. I bruise really easily.”
He let out a breath. “Still, I apologize for any discomfort I may have already caused.”
He didn’t know about the broken bones in her hand, and she wasn’t about to tell him. “You’re forgiven,” she replied. She searched his face. “Have you been around humans much?”
He started to tell her about the Morcai, about the Holconcom, and realized that it would be breaking many protocols. Later, perhaps. “I have some small acquaintance with mostly male humans,” he said after a minute.
“What do you do for a living? Or are you independently wealthy?” she asked.
He chuckled. “Among my own people, I’m an aristocrat. My Clan has wealth that we all share. But I do work, just the same. I’m a...” He searched for a word that would suffice. He couldn’t reveal his true duties where he might be overheard. The captain of the emperor’s Imperial Guard did not dare reveal himself to outworlders. “I’m a consultant,” he added, recalling his cousin Rhemun telling Kipling that, when he met his almost-adolescent son for the first time. “For the military,” he added.
“Oh. One of those brainy jobs,” she teased.
He cocked his head, curious.
“A job which requires intelligence,” she amended. “So sorry. I have to stop using idioms.”
“Alternatively, you can teach me to understand them,” he replied, smiling. “I’m a quick study. I speak many languages.”
“Really!” She grimaced. “I only speak English and French.”
He scowled. “What is French?”
“A dialect of old Earth, carried over to Terravega with the first colonists. My surname is French—Dupont.”
He smiled slowly. “Truly fascinating. Do you know much about your ancestry?”
“A little. I know that my distant ancestors were vintners.”
He scowled, not understanding the reference.
“They made wine,” she explained. “They had great plantations of grapevines, red and white grapes alike, which they made into expensive wines that were sold all over the planet. And when my Terravegan family colonized, they carried on the tradition. You’ll find Dupont wines still served in the finest dining facilities on Terravega. Even on Trimerius, where the military headquarters of the Tri-Galaxy Fleet are located. Daddy knows Admiral Jeffrye Lawson,” she added. “They play chess together on the Nexus.”
Mekashe also knew the admiral, but he wasn’t going to mention it. Time enough in the future to tell her what he really did for a job. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to be with her, to learn about her.
“They have a pool party scheduled for tomorrow aboard the ship,” she said slowly. She hesitated. “Bathing suits and all.”
He shook his head, smiling. “What is a bathing suit?”
“People wear skimpy clothing-suits that leave the arms and legs and midriff bare on women, just swimming trunks for men that leave the chest and legs bare.”
He scowled. No way could he do that. Not only was being half-nude in public considered indelicate for the Cehn-Tahr, he couldn’t reveal the band of fur that ran the length of his spine to Jasmine. It might offend her, cause her to draw back from him before she got to know the person he was.
She saw his unease and grimaced. “I don’t like wearing bathing suits, either,” she confessed. “Mama said it was indelicate. She wouldn’t let me go in swimming pools, ever, back home.”
He laughed. “I would have liked your mother. I have to confess, my culture also considers public nudity—even seminudity—indiscreet.”
She beamed. “I’m glad.” The smile faded. “There’s not much else to do on board.”
“There are holorooms,” he corrected. He pursed his lips. “We might have a picnic, on any planet of your choosing.”
She caught her breath. “Really? They can do that? I thought they were only used for, well, for indiscreet purposes.”
He laughed. “Some of them are, certainly. But we can walk in a forest on Terramer, or sit by the ocean on Trimerius. We can even go to Enmehkmehk and catch farawings.”
“What’s a farawing?”
“A small creature with brilliant wings. Untouchable in the real world, but they can be caught and even tamed as pets in a holoroom. You can save the program and revisit the pet at your convenience, and anywhere you might be. A chip of the capture is provided as part of the entertainment.”
“I should love to go on a picnic!” She hesitated again. “How do you know about picnics?”
“My best friend is bonded to a human female,” he explained. “She taught us about certain human entertainments. Sadly, opera was not one of them.”
She laughed with delight. If his friend was bonded to a human, it might mean that he had no qualms about an interracial marriage. Her heart felt lighter than air.
He saw her delight and read, quite correctly, her train of thought. His was going along the same lines. He was certain already that he would not be able to give her up. She was capturing him, as surely as farawings were captured in holorooms.
“Tomorrow, then?” she asked. “After breakfast?” She grimaced. “You’re playing chess with Daddy.”
“Then after luncheon,” he suggested softly.
Her sad expression lifted. “That would be wonderful. What should I wear?”
He wanted to tell her to keep on the gown she was wearing. It complemented her delicate beauty. But it would be impractical. “Casual clothing,” he said.
“Jeans and a shirt and boots?” she asked. “That’s Western American clothing. It’s the fad right now with designers. Nobody knows what they really wore, but handed-down documents mentioned boots and jeans, which we assume were pants made of some coarse fabric, and shirts that button up.”
“Western American.” He sighed. “I shall have to go to the virtual library.”
“Not to worry. Daddy has a book on it.” She laughed. “He has a book on everything!”
“A paper book.”
She looked worried. “It would offend you to touch it,” she guessed.
He glanced down at her. “Jasmine, a paper book is already a dead tree,” he pointed out. “I only take issue with trees on my own world being used for such a purpose, which would never happen. The process of other cultures is their concern.” He leaned down, his eyes searching hers. “I’m not offended.”
“Oh.” She was looking at his mouth. It was beautiful. Chiseled, the upper lip thinner than the lower one, wide and masculine. She’d never been kissed. She wanted to be.
He read that in her face and almost groaned. There were people everywhere.
It was too soon. He kept telling himself that as he pulled her slowly by the hand to a hidden alcove that was, temporarily, unoccupied.
“This is too soon,” he said aloud.
“I don’t care...!”
She reached up as he reached down. Her mouth was soft and sweet, nectar itself. He groaned under his breath as he fought not to crush her against his body. It truly was too soon for that sort of intimacy. He framed her face in his big, warm hands and drew his lips tenderly against her soft mouth, drowning in frustrated passion, hungry for far more than this.
He drew back to see her reaction. Her eyelids were half-closed. She looked at him with something akin to awe.
He bent again, parting her lips softly this time before he possessed them. She moaned and pressed close to him.
He didn’t dare take the invitation. The dravelzium was already wearing off. He’d have to make sure he kept a supply with him. He couldn’t bear to hurt her.
But her mouth was intoxicating. He got drunk on the taste of her. He whispered to her in High Cehn-Tahr, the Holy Tongue that only his Clan and a few members of the kehmatemer could even understand.
“What?” she whispered dizzily.
“Synthale.”
She drew back a breath.
“You go to my head like spirits,” he translated.
“You go to mine,” she whispered shakily. Her soft arms reached up, but he caught them and pulled them gently down.
“Too soon,” he whispered. He felt unsteady on his feet. “Some things must not be rushed,” he added.
She smiled stupidly. “Okay.”
He chuckled. She looked as intoxicated as he felt.
“Nobody ever kissed me before,” she confessed, shocking him. “I wasn’t sure how it would feel.” She flushed. “It’s very...nice.”
“Very nice, indeed.” He was immensely flattered. He would be her first, in every way. He had heard that some humans were very promiscuous, especially in the outer colonies. He was delighted to find her as chaste and discreet as he, himself, was. The Cehn-Tahr were pristine in their mating habits. Once bonded, they never strayed. Bonding was for life.
“So. Tomorrow after luncheon.” She looked up at him.
He nodded slowly. “After luncheon. I’ll see your father after breakfast.”
She cocked her head and smiled. “Is it a cultural thing that you don’t eat with other cultures?”
He smiled. “I’m afraid so. Our choice of cuisine is quite different from yours and might be offensive to your olfactory processes.”
She blinked. “We might not like the smell?”
“Exactly.”
She searched his eyes, so far above her own. “I can get used to anything,” she said softly. “And I mean anything, if it means being with you.”
He caught his breath. It was the way he felt, too.
He bent, helplessly, to her soft mouth. This was unwise. The dravelzium was wearing off. Contact with her mouth, without the protection of nanobytes, which also wore off, could trigger the mating cycle. She knew too little about him, about what he truly was. It would be unfair to expose her to something she might not be able to accept.
He kissed her very softly and drew back before she could reciprocate. “Slowly,” he said.
She managed to smile through her excited disappointment. “Slowly,” she replied.
He touched her soft hair where it draped around her shoulders in a beautiful, curly curtain. “Your hair is magnificent,” he whispered.
“I thought you might like it better if I wore it loose, like this.”
“Yes. I do.” He chuckled. “My own hair is even longer...” He stopped suddenly at her look of surprise.
He ground his teeth together. It was a bad slip. “I mean, I used to wear it long,” he said, shaking his head. “You see? You intoxicate me so that I can’t say what I mean.”
To his relief, she laughed. “I wonder what you’d look like with long hair,” she said aloud.
“I’ll grow it out, just for you,” he promised.
She smiled. “Will we be able to do things together, when we get to Memcache?” she asked worriedly. “I mean, will your family mind?”
“My Clan won’t mind,” he replied. “My parents are long dead. I have many cousins, but no close family anymore.”
“Sort of like me,” she said. “All I have left is Daddy.”
“I like your father,” he told her. “He is unique.”
She smiled. “Yes. I love him very much.”
He brushed her hair away from her face. “I want children,” he said huskily.
She felt a wave of hunger so sweeping that it almost staggered her. “I want them, too,” she whispered.
They stared at each other hungrily until a passing couple noticed them and called a greeting.
They shook themselves mentally, moved apart and called back the greeting as they proceeded toward the cabin Jasmine shared with her parent.
“I have never enjoyed anything as much as this evening,” Mekashe told her softly. “It has been one of the happiest days of my life.”
“Of mine, as well,” she replied, searching his eyes. “I’ll look forward to tomorrow afternoon.”
“As will I.” He smiled tenderly. “I will carry this memory of the way you look until I die...” He hesitated. “Is it permissible, for me to capture you like this?”
“Of course,” she said at once.
He produced a small photographic device the size of a thumb from his jacket and captured a photograph of her.
The door opened just after he shot it.
“Daddy, would you capture us together? Is it all right?” she asked Mekashe.
“Certainly!” he said, handing the device to her father. “If you wouldn’t mind?”
He chuckled. “Not at all.” He triggered the device, three times. “I made multiples, in case the first didn’t take.” He handed it to Mekashe. “Might better check and make sure.”
He did. He looked at the portrait of the two of them and sighed inwardly. They looked perfect together. Her fairness, and his black hair and light gold skin, seemed to complement each other.
“May I see?” she asked, and leaned on Mekashe’s arm to look over it. He was far too tall for her to look over his shoulder. “It’s perfect! Can you share it with me, on the Nexus?” she asked.
He wouldn’t dare. No holos of him or any member of the Imperial Guard or the Holconcom were permitted.
“I can do much better. I’ll bring you one of these with the capture in it tomorrow. Will that suffice?” he teased.
“That would be wonderful!” She looked up at him delightedly. “And you’ll teach me to use it, yes?”
He nodded. “Yes, I will.”
“We’re going to have a picnic in the forest in a holoroom,” she told her father. “So I’m afraid you’ll have luncheon alone,” she teased.
Mekashe frowned. “A picnic involves food?”
She looked at him. “Well, usually.” She flushed. “Sorry, I forgot. I’ll have lunch with Daddy, and we’ll have a foodless picnic,” she added with a grin.
He chuckled. “Very well. I’ll see you for chess in the morning, then, Ambassador,” he told her father.
“I’ll look forward to it. Good evening.”
“Good night,” Jasmine added.
He gave her a lingering smile. “Sleep well.”
He walked away. Jasmine stared after him for a minute before she went inside with her father and closed the door.
Ambassador Dupont looked at her worriedly. “You know,” he began, “their culture isn’t the same as ours. It’s very different, from what I’ve heard.”
She smiled. “Then I’ll learn as I go along. He’s...incredible. Tender and funny and smart. Smarter than me.”
“Smarter than me, too, I’m afraid.” He hesitated. He’d just had a virtual briefing with the head of the diplomatic department on Terravega. It included top secret information about the true form of the Cehn-Tahr and cultural differences that were unknown to most humans. Jasmine had never seen a true alien. The Altairian she’d discovered on the ship was quite human looking, except for his blue skin. The Vegans, though more alien, were mostly humanoid. But the Cehn-Tahr were very different. Not only that, they were far stronger than humans.
Jasmine was hungry for Mekashe and the reverse seemed equally true. It was more dangerous than she realized, but he’d never seen her so animated, so very happy. Was it fair to destroy her illusions? After all, it might be just an infatuation, the lure of the unfamiliar. If that were true, it would seep out on its own accord and he wouldn’t have to hurt her by imparting unpalatable facts. Like the fact that Cehn-Tahr ate their food whole and raw. He understood now why Mekashe wouldn’t dine with them.
Their cultures were radically different. He knew that two members of the Royal Clan had human consorts, but there were deep secrets about the bondings. He didn’t know what Mekashe’s Clan affiliation was. There were rumors from HQ that some clans had accepted genetic enhancements that made them extremely dangerous to humans.
Well, he could certainly discount that after tonight, he told himself, amused. His daughter looked slightly disheveled, but there was no bruising and certainly no broken bones. So perhaps Mekashe’s Clan didn’t have those enhancements. Perhaps the cultural differences wouldn’t matter.
Still, he worried. Jasmine was so unsophisticated, and so very young. He watched her go back to her room, her mind far away on the handsome stranger from Memcache. And he hoped against hope that he wouldn’t regret his silence.