“Several.”

“Does that translate to mean you’re married?”

The question seemed to strike a nerve. There was the briefest flicker of pain in those dark eyes. “No, I’m not marriageable material.”

“Lot of my dates have said that about me. Hi, I’m

Jay Ackroyd.” She stared at the out-thrust hand with the air of someone who couldn’t identify the appendage. Oh, that’s right, you Takisians don’t shake hands. You all seem to move straight to the kissing. Great custom as long as I’m not meeting a man.” He was babbling. He knew it. It embarrassed him. He couldn’t stop. It was her, she made him nervous.

Her dark eyes had gone wary. She studied him, and Jay had the feeling that she was actually seeing him for the first time. “How did you get here?”

“That’s a really long story.”

She turned away. “Then I don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re pretty fucking cool about meeting up with an alien. Aren’t you gonna call the cops, or get scared?”

“I’ve been up to the Bonded station to look at aliens.”

“You make it sound like a trip to the zoo.”

“Isn’t it?” It wasn’t actually a smile, but a dimple did appear briefly in her left cheek.

Jay grinned in delight. She was really pretty when she stopped frowning. The door to the restaurant opened, and three men entered. The detective and the woman turned, and Jay didn’t need his hostess’s reaction to tell him these were cops – it was depressing to discover “The Look” transcended light-years.

“You will come with us please.”

“And if I say no?”

He felt another mind closing like a vise around him, and too late he realized that although these goons were dressed in the less opulent Tarhiji fashion and their hair was brown, they were psi lords.

“Okay, okay, okay!” he stuttered out just before the compulsion became overwhelming.

Two of the men took his arms and marched him to the door. Jay grabbed the jamb and managed to call back. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again.”

The spokesman for the trio tossed a credit jewel to the proprietress. “Bill it to the House.”

Jay’s last sight was of the woman deliberately crushing the crystal under a heel.

Out in the street they released him. Jay twitched his coat straight and pushed back his hair. “How the hell did you find me so fast?”

It wasn’t hard. We just had to look for a ridiculous foreigner asking stupid questions.”

The crackle of the foil as it was wadded into trash by Taj’s fist was a very strong clue that Jay had again managed to walk straight into the middle of a cow patty.

“I do not think a friendship with this woman is the wisest course you could pursue. I foresee a dark outcome.”

“You read tea leaves too? What, are you telling my fortune here?”

“I’m not concerned about you, Mr. Ackroyd. I am concerned about not reawakening an old shame in this House -”

“There is one really annoying habit that all you Takisians share. You can’t cut to the chase. Just say it. Straight.”

“Hastet benasari Julali attracted the attention of a young nobleman, and they began a clandestine love affair. She should have known better. He certainly did. If he desired the woman, he needed only to petition to bring her into the House as a La’b.” Jay correctly translated that as toy. It pissed him off. “My young relative sired a child on her – an act absolutely forbidden by our law and custom. Because of her extreme youth, and the early stage of her pregnancy, her life was spared.”

“What did you do to her?”

“The child was aborted. Hastet neutered.”

“That’s what she meant about not being a marriageable commodity.”

“Our culture places a great value on children, Mr. Ackroyd.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Taj either missed or chose to ignore the sarcasm. “What happened to the dickweed who knocked her up?”

“He was of the Most Bred.”

“Translate… nothing. I think she got the raw end of this deal.”

“She is lucky to be alive.”

“I’m going to see her again.”

“I would prefer you not.”

“Where’s the harm? She’s a little low-class nothing. I’m a little low-class nothing.”

Jay realized that, for whatever reason, he amused Taj. The old man suddenly smiled. “I suppose it will do no harm.”

“And as long as we’re gettin’ along so great – tell Zabb to call off the fuzz. Since it seems Meadows and I have become permanent citizens, I’d like to get a look at the real estate.”

“I’m uncertain for whom that is a greater tragedy.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The most notable thing about the aftermath of battle is the stench. Acrid smoke catching in the back of the throat. The sickly sweet smell of blood, roasted flesh. Next is sound. The ears slowly recover from the screams and the discharge of powerful weapons. Then you hear the hopeless whimperings of the wounded and dying.

Blaise had handled his first battle well, and Durg was pleased. The first blooding was always the most critical. Of course, his fears had been slight. The boy took an almost evil delight in inflicting pain. The question had been whether he was a coward as many bullies tended to be. He wasn’t.

Only one small doubt niggled and worried at the edges of the Morakh’s mind and spoiled his pleasure in the victory. The boy had not confided in Durg the most essential part of his planned assault on House Rodaleh.

The memory still made Durg’s mouth go dry as he remembered how at the height of the battle Blaise had flung away his weapons and, using a throat mike and button speakers to amplify his voice, exhorted House Rodaleh’s Tarhiji troops to join with him.

And they had!

So the dice had fallen well, but the action told Durg more plainly than a conversation that Blaise had begun to believe his own press. Invincible, invulnerable.

And mad, Durg thought as he came around the garden wall and stopped to consider the eerie sight before him. Blaise standing on the back of a downed ship, while the Tarhiji, ranked seven or eight deep, stood gazing in silent wonder up at him. The rising sun at his back seemed to wash his trademark black clothing with blood, and Fel’k, the larger moon, threw its waning light across his face, deepening the eye sockets and heightening the jutting cheekbones and square chin. He was an imposing figure.

“Hear me, my people. We shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills, and a thousand years from now men will still say this was their finest hour.”

Durg motioned to his fellow Morakh, and they shoved the ruling line of House Rodaleh forward to meet their conqueror. The Tarhiji fell back like snow touched with a hot blade.

Blaise jumped down from the back of the dead ship and stared down into the face of Aleh, Raiyis of House Rodaleh. Beads of sweat suddenly popped out on Blaise’s upper lip. So the man was prepared, and his shields were up, thought Durg. There wasn’t time for a long, drawn-out mentatic battle with the blind watching. Durg forced the Raiyis to his knees before Blaise.

“I have your House, Aleh brant Agat sek Vereem,” Blaise said. “I don’t need to offer you a second chance, but I’m a reasonable man, so I’m going to give you that chance. Will you join with House Vayawand?’

Silence. Durg jabbed Aleh with his thumb. “Answer.”

“I do not speak with abominations,” Aleh said, and by speaking to a Morakh he had made it clear he considered Blaise even lower.

With a regretful shake of his head, Blaise drew his sword and offered it to a nearby Tarhiji. He then indicated the captured nobles of House Rodaleh with a sweep of his hand. “These are yours to do with as you please. I know what would please me.” Blaise shoved Aleh toward the Tarhiji Blaise had armed.