At last she spoke. "I don't know. I-I'm afraid."
He put his hands on her hips and stared at her. "You prefer to die?"
She licked dry lips.
"You still have a choice. But you'll have to make it now. I've watched you myself, and I want to-be with you. Take care of you and protect you. Otherwise-If you're lucky and aren't murdered here, you'll have to stay in this room the rest of your life. Without friends." His hands had slid behind her, cupping her buttocks, drawing her against him. "But if you let me, I'll take you out of here," he murmured. "I'm an influential man. A wealthy man. Your life with me will be very good." He pulled her skirt up in back, found her buttocks bare, as he'd expected, and pressed her harder against him as he squeezed them. His voice turned husky. "Also I'm a very good lover."
He kissed her roughly, then stepped back and pulled her dress open, the press-seams parting with a hissing sound. He stared for a moment, then wrapping his arms around her hips, lifted her, carried her upright to her bed, and dropped her on it. She'd done nothing to resist or help him; now she lay there, exposed, smooth-skinned, staring at him with wide and frightened eyes. Hands shaking with urgency, he pulled off his clothes.
It was an hour later that he left her room, slipping furtively down the silent hallway. Now there was danger again. He left the lift tube on five, found both corridor and monitor room empty, and put the control cards back into the monitors. Their screens returned to life. Tain lay curled in a naked ball on her bed, face down, arms around her head as if to shield it. He could tell she was crying, and a pang of conscience touched his chest. Suppressing it he left, seeing no one till he passed through reception, where three security officers sat, two reading, one dozing.
He nodded to them as he passed through, gesturing them to remain seated. As far as they were concerned, the new vice minister had stayed late, familiarizing himself with the policy and regulation files.
It seemed to him he should feel exhilarated. Instead, as he walked down the lamp-lit, tree-lined avenue toward his apartment, uncertainties nagged. What if she reported what happened? Maybe he should have strangled her. Surprised at the thought and repelled by it, he shook it off. Still though, she might tell, unless he got her out of there.
She'd been crying. Causing her to cry hadn't been part of his imaginings. What did she think of him? The first time he'd been quick as a boy. Later she'd responded, even if not as freely as he'd fantasized. Pleasing her had been part of it, and he realized now how unlikely that had been, under the circumstances.
Kargh, but she was beautiful though! If only he could marry her! Every man on Klestron would envy him. But he'd gotten engaged to Leolani, and there was no way out of it-not that wouldn't ruin him. Leolani was the daughter of the Archprelate of Khaloom, and after the sultan and his own father, the archprelate was the most powerful man on Klestron, not to mention being the probable successor to the aging sultan. It had seemed a brilliant idea to make him his father-in-law.
The thought slowed his steps. It had been a brilliant idea. It still was. Maybe this business with the prisoner hadn't been such a good idea. Maybe he should let be, forget her. What would Leolani be like in bed? With her father's wealth, she'd have the advantage of tutoring from one of the best bride's aunts on Klestron. Although that guaranteed nothing. In the final analysis, it all came down to interest.
But the prisoner! She was so damned beautiful! So exotic! Those long smooth legs, those smooth and lovely breasts…
By the time he'd reached his apartment and showered, his mind had settled considerably. He and Leolani were to live on her father's estate, thirty miles south of Khaloom. He'd spend part of his time living there and part in his apartment here, that had been agreed on. Even her father split his time between his estate and the city; that was common among men who were important in government. He'd bed Leolani at home and the prisoner in the city. And if Leolani learned of her, there'd be no problem finding someone willing to take the beautiful alien in.
He opened his liquor cabinet, took down a bottle of well-aged brandy, and poured a double in a brandy glass. As he inhaled its fragrance, a thought occurred to him: Maybe the archprelate kept a mistress in the city! Unlikely perhaps, but possible. He'd hire an investigator to find out; it shouldn't be difficult. If so, and if he was found out himself, he wouldn't need to worry about the archprelate's reaction.
Meanwhile he'd broach the matter of the prisoner's release tomorrow. Casually. If the Minister or the Intelligence Director asked what his interest was, he'd point out that it had been himself who, on Terfreya, had taken her to the ship, where she'd lost her memory and been brought here. That he felt responsible for her being here. If necessary, he would also mention the voyeurism in the monitor room, and its possible effect on staff morals. They might well ask then, would almost surely ask, if he was willing to become her guardian, and he'd waffle a bit before saying yes.
Risky, of course, but not unreasonably so.
He'd set the prisoner up in a small apartment in his own building, he decided, an apartment on another floor, for appearances' sake, with a single serving girl who'd live in and keep her company. The cost would be no problem for a scion of the Thoglakaveera family. And if he was careful about it, keeping a low profile, Leolani would never know.
Eight
Among the white robes of his five councilmen, the Kalif's carmine robe stood out like a vivid red jewel. He seldom used his gavel with this group; he didn't now. He simply looked them over and spoke.
"We're all here; let's begin. I presume you've read and digested the report from Sultan Rashti regarding his expedition and its results. Any comments? Alb Thoga."
A thin-faced exarch, almost emaciated looking, opened his narrow beak. "We discussed this a year ago, when we got his preliminary report. He should have been deposed then, as a matter of principle, and the matter closed!"
"Thank you, Alb Thoga," the Kalif answered dryly. "When we discussed it a year ago, the circumstances were different. The expedition was kept secret on Klestron-a remarkable accomplishment-and we succeeded in keeping it secret here, where only the six of us knew. We agreed then that it would be severely unwise to make it public before the expedition returned. Now it's back, and it's discoveries will certainly become public; undoubtedly on Klestron they already have. Which will present both Karghanik and the empire with problems. And possibly opportunities."
A large, stubby-fingered hand lifted abruptly from the table, and the Kalif responded. "Alb Tariil?"
A heavy-set, powerful-looking exarch spoke. "Your Reverence, what-opportunities do you refer to?"
The Kalif smiled wryly. They were apparent enough, and Tariil's instant reaction showed he'd recognized them himself, reading Rashti's report. "I intend simply to chair this meeting for now," he answered, "and allow the rest of you to talk. Alb Jilsomo?"
The Kalif's lieutenant, Jilsomo Savbatso, spoke. "Regarding problems, the one that comes immediately to mind is the effect of habitable planets having been found besides the eleven that The Book of The Prophet accounts for. The planets and the humans living on them. True, they're accounted for by inference in The Book of the Mountain, but it was branded apocryphal by the Convention of Dhalaporu. Perhaps we need to consider elevating it. In fact, it appears now that The Prophet did write it."
Two voices raised in protest at this. The Kalif rapped his gavel. "Gentlemen! One at a time. Alb Drova?"
The exarch who answered was the eldest of them, a man once lean and strong but now frail. Regardless, he stood up to speak. "Thank you, Your Reverence. To elevate any apocryphum, even The Book of the Mountain, would set a dangerous and unacceptable precedent, and I, for one, could never agree to it. Compared to earlier religions, one of the great strengths of Karghanik has been, and is, the stability and authority of its scriptures. And the fact that, through millennia of wars and insurrections, through Kalifs and exarchs wise and unwise, honorable and corrupt-even through the deadly fever, the burning plague-the basis of Karghanik has remained reliable…"