“It is a compromise that benefits us, yes!” Johnson hesitated as he returned to his chair, where he sat and crossed his legs, resuming the nonchalant manner he’d exhibited earlier. When he spoke again, all traces of emotion had disappeared from his voice. “We’re not stupid backwater natives, as is so popularly believed among the Worlds. We like our life the way it is, and accept those benefits from the Empire that we see fit to accept. Our dealings with the Empire these many centuries have been regarded as a necessary evil to maintain our life-style.
“Sol system is a harmonious system. Those Earthers not wishing to be a part of the life-style on the home world are free to settle elsewhere, and many relocate here on the Moon or in the Orbitals. Some have joined the project to reclaim Venus or have settled on the moons of the gas giants; still others accept the Imperial way of life or elect the harsh life on one of the frontier worlds. They do so with our blessings, leaving our values, and theirs, intact. Is that so difficult for you to understand?”
Bomeer looked once at Wynne, then regarded Johnson steadily. “What I seem to understand,” he said, rising from his spot on the sofa, “is that there is apparently little purpose to our continuing this discussion.” He reached for the blocker on the tray, but Johnson’s hand on his wrist stopped him. The man’s grip was incredibly strong. Bomeer stared at the Earther’s hand, envious of the great strength hidden in his deceptively thin fingers, and noticed a gold bracelet encircling his wrist. But for an etching of a majestic flame-enshrouded bird on the metal’s curved, gleaming surface, the bracelet was plain and otherwise unadorned.
Bomeer looked up and found himself gazing squarely into Johnson’s face. This close to the man, he noticed a musky scent about him that mingled pleasantly with the smell of his leather jacket. Further, there was something about the look in Johnson’s eyes as he leaned close that made Bomeer want to listen, something that made him want to trust the man.
“Let us understand this, then: We are a different people, you and I, and have differences in philosophy.” He released Bomeer’s arm and, sitting upright once more, addressed both academicians. “But in this instance we share the same goal. You, to maintain the physical integrity of your Empire, wish this project stopped. So do we. Only our motives differ.”
Bomeer idly rubbed his wrist. “And just what are your motives?”
Johnson was silent a moment, then, “We believe that the death of the Sun is part of the natural order of things, part of His plan for us. We wish to maintain our spiritual integrity.”
“Religious fanatic,” Wynne spat once the door had slid shut. “I’ve detested them wherever I’ve encountered them.”
“I heartily agree,” Bomeer said, retrieving his glass from the tray. The ice had melted, diluting his drink, and he crossed to a waist-high cart placed to one side of the room to fix himself another. “But they have their uses. Did you see his eyes? There was something there, something that made me want to—When he grabbed my wrist I wanted to reach out and throttle him. But something in his eyes, in the tone of his voice, made me stop, made me listen. That’s a powerful strength. If he can control and convince his followers, his own people, as easily as he did us…” Bomeer shuddered with the memory of the man’s stare.
“Yes, but can we control him?”
Bomeer exhaled heavily and, turning to stare out at the landscape, added, “Perhaps a better question would be: Do we dare try?”
Rihana sat before the dressing table in her private chamber, studying her reflection in the mirror as she slowly brushed her long coppery hair. She was not displeased with what she saw. Before leaving Corinth, she had accepted the fact that she would most likely need a rejuvenation upon arriving at Sol system, but a smile came to her lips as she observed just how little the trip had affected her.
There was a soft, polite tapping at the door. “Mistress Valtane?”
She paused, mid-stroke, at the interruption but finished with the brush and set it on the table before responding.
“Yes, what is it, Linn?” She made no effort to turn to face her attendant when she entered, and instead concentrated on her own image in the mirror as she considered which jeweled comb would best accentuate the outfit she’d selected for this meeting.
“The Ambassador’s liaison is here, Mistress. He is waiting in the receiving room.”
On that, Rihana did turn. “His liaison? Not the Ambassador himself?” Since it was the Ambassador who had requested this meeting, she was surprised at the news. “Very well,” she said, “I’ll be there directly.”
The attendant nodded and quickly left the chamber. Rihana went to a full-length mirror near one of the room’s several closets and examined herself. She’d selected her outfit specifically with the Ambassador in mind, being careful to choose a color pattern visible to the alien. She quickly undressed, tossing the expensive gown casually across a chair, and selected a two-piece pantsuit of shiny satin. Only slightly less expensive than the outfit now lying in a heap on the chair, it was considerably more comfortable. Glancing in the mirror, she confirmed that it would also be more appealing to the all-too-human eye of the Ambassador’s liaison.
He was already standing when she entered, idly watching the comings and goings in the small landing facility adjacent to the receiving room. Over his shoulder she could see the Sarpan shuttle parked and being tended to by members of her staff. He wore a loose open-collar white shirt, short-sleeved, with pants of a matching light material and looked more like a man on holiday than an official emissary for an alien race. Another of her attendants had remained with him since his arrival, and she nodded to dismiss him. The Ambassador’s liaison had his back to her, and he started slightly at the sudden movement behind him and turned. Rihana recognized him as the same man who had contacted her to arrange the meeting the day before.
“Mistress Valtane,” he said with a polite nod that was almost, but not quite, a formal bow. “On behalf of Ambassador Press, thank you for receiving me.”
“Please, be comfortable.” She led him to a circular sofa grouping at one side of the room and waited until they were both seated before continuing. “I must admit Mr.—Carrigan, is it?—that I’m a bit surprised. When we spoke yesterday, I was of the impression that the Ambassador himself wished to speak with me.”
Carrigan cleared his throat, but if he was at all nervous or unsure of himself, he didn’t show it. “I apologize for any misunderstanding, Mistress. Valtane, but the Ambassador never meets in person with anyone, including members of his own race, during what they refer to as a ‘first touching.’ It is customary for important members of the Sarpan race to meet first through an intermediary, even when all are present in the same room, and they have extended that custom to members of the Hundred Worlds as well. I’m sorry, but I’d assumed you knew.”
“First touching,” she replied, almost to herself, and extended a tentative hand. “Very well, then.”
He took the offered hand. “Ambassador Press extends his greetings and good wishes to the House of Valtane.”
She nodded agreement and Carrigan started to release her hand, but Rihana held it a bit longer, studying his reaction, before slowly letting go. Again, he seemed in complete control of his actions.
“Now,” she asked, leaning back into the chair, “may I inquire as to the purpose of this meeting?”