New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer delivers an intergalactic tale of impossible love...and betrayal

The first time Mekashe, Captain of the Imperial Guard, meets blue-eyed human beauty Jasmine Donally, the two nearly come to blows. Forever devoted to the Cehn-Tahr, Mekashe is forced to sever ties with the object of his adoration. Years pass before their paths cross again, but Mekashe hasn’t forgotten what transpired—or the way she makes his heart race. But even if he can forgive the past, insurmountable barriers still threaten to keep them worlds apart. With their mutual attraction escalating quickly, they’ll have to find a way to bridge the gap—or be lost to each other forever.

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The Morcai Battalion: The Pursuit

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08324-9

THE MORCAI BATTALION: THE PURSUIT

© 2018 Diana Palmer

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Praise for New York Times bestselling author DIANA PALMER

“Palmer proves that love and passion can be found even in the most dangerous situations.”

—Publishers Weekly on Untamed

“You just can’t do better than a Diana Palmer story to make your heart lighter and smile brighter.”

—Fresh Fiction on Wyoming Rugged

“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”

—Affaire de Coeur

“The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.”

—Booklist on Lawman

“Diana Palmer’s characters leap off the page. She captures their emotions and scars beautifully and makes them come alive for readers.”

—RT Book Reviews on Lawless

Dear Reader,

This book is a continuation of my Morcai Battalion series, which, with the publication of this one, now comprises five novels. I never dreamed the first one would ever be reprinted, much less that I would be allowed to do more. It truly is a dream come true.

Thanks to everyone who helped me along the way, especially Tara and Mary-Theresa, and all the kind people who encouraged me. When I started the Morcai Battalion in late 1964 as nothing more than a short story for a writing course, I thought that my characters would lie dormant forever after. But there was more to be written than I knew at the time.

As they say, it’s not the destination, it’s the journey. And what a long and fascinating journey it’s been! To all of you whom I met along the way, thank you for your encouragement, kindness and prayers. Writing is a lonely business. But the richest reward it brings is not money or fame; it’s friendship. Thank you for yours.

I am your biggest fan,

Diana Palmer

To my friend, editor Carly Silver at Harlequin, who has been so kind and supportive over the years. Thanks for everything!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS THE most boring voyage of Mekashe’s recent life. He’d been sent to represent the Cehn-Tahr government at a meeting of security experts who dealt with the safety of heads of state. Since Mekashe was captain of the Cehn-Tahr emperor Tnurat Alamantimichar’s Imperial Guard, he was the obvious person to attend.

But he was used to military routine, and this was far from that. It was an A-class cruise vessel, intended for use by the general public. Because it was more expensive than most transports, the people aboard tended to be from the highest level of their respective societies. It wasn’t commonly known, but Mekashe was a royal, a great-nephew of old Tnurat. His relationship to the emperor was why he was given the position of Imperial Guard Captain. Clan status denoted position. So when his best friend, Rhemun, followed Dtimun as the commander of the Holconcom, Mekashe was given Rhemun’s former position as captain of the guard. Clan status was the most important facet of the Cehn-Tahr’s rigid class culture.

Despite the relaxed atmosphere of the ship, which was uncomfortable, Mekashe did enjoy the observation deck. He could look out and see comets and meteors and distant stars as the huge vessel plowed its way through space. It was a novelty in his life, because the Imperial Guard was composed mostly of ground troops, elite infantry. The Holconcom, captained by his best friend, Rhemun, was more like space cavalry. The Holconcom was the most feared fighting force in the three galaxies, a specialized commando battalion on the flagship Morcai with both human and Cehn-Tahr personnel in an almost-equal mixture. Rhemun was bonded to the Morcai’s former Cularian medical specialist, Dr. Edris Mallory, and they had a son, Kipling. The boy was almost as talented with the Kahn-Bo fighting style as Mekashe, and he outclassed his father, Rhemun. He was so good that Mekashe—fleet champion in Kahn-Bo—had to work very hard to best him.

He thought about families. He had been mildly infatuated with Edris Mallory and spent much time talking to her, learning about human culture. Rhemun had been jealous. That was in the time before, when Rhemun was forced by Clan structure to take command of the Holconcom and captain the flagship Morcai. He had hated humans, and Dr. Mallory came in for a lot of harassment from him. That changed when she ran from a particularly painful argument and wound up at the lawless Benaski Port, hiding from everyone. She was attacked by a brothel owner while defending two little girls and left for dead. Rhemun had sent several members of his squad after the perpetrator, who was left in pieces. After that, he and Edris bonded. It had been a sad day in Mekashe’s life, because he adored the little blonde physician. But he was happy for his friend.

It was odd that he liked humans so much. In past times, Cehn-Tahr had been prejudiced toward outworlders. Ahkmau, the infamous Rojok prison camp, had changed all that. A combined crew of Cehn-Tahr and humans had been captured and held in the hellish concentration camp. Many had died regaining their freedom. It had drawn the two very different races close and led to the formation of the Morcai Battalion. The integrated group was a sentinel of racial tolerance in a sea of interstellar prejudice. It had done much to change attitudes in the three galaxies.

Now humans were family to the military Cehn-Tahr. Many of Mekashe’s comrades were as fascinated with the species as he was himself.

Mekashe had dreamed for most of his life about a blonde human female with exquisite features. But unlike Edris Mallory, who was short and delicate, Mekashe’s dream female was tall and willowy, and kindhearted. He had the gift of telepathy, which he shared only with the Royal Clan, of which he was part. Cehn-Tahr never publicized the ability among outworlders. In fact, they never spoke of their culture to anyone outside Memcache, the home planet of the Cehn-Tahr.

He wondered about the prophetic dream. Only Caneese, the bonded mate of the emperor, had such a great gift for seeing the future. It had not arisen in any other member of the Clan. But Mekashe often saw things before they happened. So the gift was at least present in him, if not as formidable as Caneese’s ability.

He was probably just dreaming, he thought, amused at his own weakness. His position gave him status among the Cehn-Tahr. Captain of the Imperial Guard was no small government job. It put him among planetal leaders, like Field Marshal Chacon, former field of the Rojok Army, who was now Premier of the Rojok Republic, having displaced the despot who had ruled after Mangus Lo. The depravity of the former Rojok government was something that Chacon was still having to live down. The death camp at Ahkmau had been hidden from everyone, even from Chacon, until he was forced to go there to save the Cehn-Tahr emperor’s daughter, Lyceria. In the course of that rescue, he had helped the humans and Cehn-Tahr of the Morcai Battalion to escape execution, as well. Now, in an irony of fate, Chacon was bonded to the emperor’s daughter. They were expecting their first child very soon. Gossip said that Chacon, that powerhouse of might, was pacing the floor and worrying himself to death, like any other prospective father. His passion for his mate had raised eyebrows, because Rojoks and Cehn-Tahr were traditional enemies. Now all sorts of new bonds were being formed. Homogenous cultures were becoming galactic ones, with the mixing. It produced some beautiful children. Kipling, Rhemun’s son, was one of those. He had long, curly blond hair—his father had long, curly black hair—and human features, but he had his father’s cat eyes that changed color with emotion. It was an exotic, fascinating blend of traits.

Mekashe would have liked a son, but he had found no Cehn-Tahr woman with whom he wanted to bond. The dreams of perfection, of that blonde phantom, haunted him. Probably, he reasoned, it was only a dream, and he would never meet...

“But I know it was this way!” a soft, feminine voice wailed, interrupting his thoughts. “I can’t believe this! Why isn’t there a map of the ship, or a holo, or anything...! Oh! Hello,” she said as she stopped just in front of Mekashe. “Sorry, I was just talking to myself. I do that, far too much. I’m lost. I’m lost! I was supposed to meet my father for dinner, and I can’t find him or the dining room or anything! I’m just hopeless!”

Mekashe’s eyes had turned from the solid blue of introspection to the soft, twinkling green of amusement as he listened to her. She was substance out of his dreams. He could hardly believe it. She was tall and willowy, with perfect, beautiful features. She had blue eyes and wavy blond hair pulled up into an elegant hairdo with glittering jewel accents. She was wearing blue—a pale, soft blue gown that left her arms and her nape bare, but covered her completely from neck to toe in front and draped in soft folds down to her jeweled high-heel shoes. She was the most magnificent creature he’d ever seen in his life.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted when he didn’t speak. She wondered if he spoke some other tongue than hers. Her high cheekbones colored red. “I apologize for...” she began loudly, as if he might be hard of hearing rather than raised in a separate language.

He held up a hand and smiled. “No apology is needed,” he said in a deep, soft tone, in unaccented Standard. “The ship is extremely large and there are no virtual hubs to help you find your way. Where do you want to go?”

She studied him with utter fascination. “Did your eyes just change color?” she exclaimed, her eyes wide and unblinking on his golden-skinned face. He had eyes oddly like a cat. She was afraid of cats. But he was a man. He was a gorgeous man. She could overlook the eyes. They weren’t really catlike at all, she thought.

He chuckled, or what passed for one in a Cehn-Tahr. “Yes,” he said. “It is a characteristic of my race. The colors mirror moods.” This much he was allowed by custom to discuss. The color changes were well-known.

“What is green?” she asked, truly interested.

“Amusement,” he said softly.

“Oh!” She sighed. “I was afraid that I’d offended you!”

“If so, my eyes would be dark brown, not green,” he replied.

“Are you an alien?” she asked. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never been off Terravega until we boarded this vessel. I saw a blue man just now!”

“Altair,” he said. “Possibly Jebob. The eye colors are different, but they both come from the same ancestry.”

“That’s fascinating!”

So was she. He was entranced. She’d never been off-world. Never seen an alien. He’d been all over the three galaxies and had seen races that were even now almost unreal.

“Would you like me to escort you to the dining room?” he asked politely.

“That would be so kind of you!”

He managed a smile. It was foreign to his culture, but he studied human traits and often emulated them. It was a holdover from his infatuation with Edris Mallory.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said, and bowed slightly.

She caught her breath. He was gorgeous. She’d never seen anyone so handsome, alien or human.

Unknown to her, he read those thoughts with delight. The attraction was mutual, it seemed.

“Are you on holiday?” she asked as they walked past bulkheads that lined the outer structure of the spacegoing ship.

He chuckled. “I am returning to my home, after attending a conference. I would have taken a shorter route, but my...employer said that I needed the downtime. So it will be weeks before I reach my destination.”

She smiled. “Most people benefit from an occasional holiday. I know my poor father does. He was a college professor on Terravega—that’s where we’re from. He taught political science.”

“An interest of mine,” he replied.

She made a face. “I hate politics,” she murmured.

His dark eyebrows lifted in an almost-human manner. “What subject do you prefer?”

“Medicine!” she said enthusiastically. “I wanted so desperately to be a surgeon, but my mother, God rest her soul, was horrified, even though she was a physician from the time she was out of secondary school.”

“Why?” he asked gently.

“She said that I was far too innocent and sheltered for such a brutal profession.” She sighed. “Besides that, the only career path I could find led through the military. When I mentioned that, Daddy got involved, and he and my mother blindsided me.” She didn’t add that she despised the military, so she hadn’t fought them very hard.

He frowned. “Blindsided?”

“They joined forces to oppose me, before I knew what they were about,” she translated with a laugh like tinkling bells. “I suppose they were right. I’ve never seen alien planets before, or been in space. This is such an adventure!” She looked up at him with soft blue eyes. “Have you been in space before?”

He’d lived in it most of his life, but he hesitated to admit that. “Yes. A time or two,” he prevaricated.

She smiled. “I’d love to hear about it sometime.” She flushed and averted her eyes. “I mean, if you’d like to talk to me. I’m daffy. I drive Daddy nuts. Most people avoid me because they think I’m scattered.”

He stopped walking and just looked down at her. “These idioms.” He chuckled. “I must confess that I need a translator.” He said it softly, so that he didn’t offend her. “The humans I’ve known used very few.”

“I’m notorious for them, I’m afraid. What I mean is that I’m easily diverted and I don’t concentrate well. Daddy says it’s a sort of attention deficit disorder, but he doesn’t believe in drugs, so he refused to let them give me any to correct it.” She grimaced. “I suppose I sound like a lunatic...”

“I think you sound quite fascinating,” he said quietly, and his eyes began to take on a soft, light brown color.

“Your eyes changed color again,” she remarked, fascinated. “You aren’t angry?” she added worriedly, because he’d said that brown meant anger.

He chuckled, or what substituted for laughter in a Cehn-Tahr. “Yes. The colors can become confusing when several emotions are involved.” He nodded toward a door to avoid telling her that the soft brown meant affection. It was too soon for that. “I am not angry. The colors are more complicated than I can explain to you at the moment. The dining room is through here,” he said, diverting her.

“I forgot to tell you my name. I’m Jasmine. Jasmine Dupont. Our ancestry, they say, is French, from ancient Earth. It’s where all Terravegans come from.”

“I am called Mekashe.” He gave it the formal pronunciation.

“Mekashe.” She flushed a little as she said it, and smiled delightedly. She hesitated. “Would you like to meet Daddy?” she blurted out, and flushed again, a darker pink. “I mean, if you’d like to, if I’m not imposing...”

“I should like it very much. Jasmine.” He made her name sound exotic, foreign, thrilling.

She laughed. “Thank you...?” She hesitated, afraid that she was going to mess up the pronunciation.

“Mekashe,” he repeated slowly. He gave it the pronunciation that a stranger would use on Memcache, because names were pronounced in many different ways among the Cehn-Tahr, depending on length of relationship, Clan status, position and so forth.

“Mekashe.” She studied his strong, handsome face. “Do names have meanings among your people? I mean, my name is that of a flower on Terravega.”

Even more fascinating. She reminded him of a flower, delicate and beautiful. “They do,” he replied. “I was born on the day of a great battle, which ended well for my people. My name, among my own people, translates as ‘He of the warrior blood.’”

“Oh.” She hated the military, but she wouldn’t mention that, not when she found him so attractive. She laughed then, lightening his expression. “I love it!”

He cocked his head. He smiled. She entranced him.

They stood staring at each other until another passenger came barreling out the door and almost collided with them. Jasmine staggered, but he didn’t reach out to steady her. He ground his teeth together. If he touched her, even in an innocent way, it might trigger a mating behavior—especially considering the attraction he already felt. He saw her mild surprise at his lack of help, and he grimaced. He wasn’t even allowed to explain it to her. One didn’t elaborate on intimate customs among outworlders.

“There are reasons for my actions,” he said, compromising. “I wish I could explain. But I can’t.”

“You aren’t allowed to touch human females. Right?” she asked with certainty.

His eyebrows arched almost to his hairline.

She cleared her throat. “Sorry. Daddy says I’m always putting my foot into my mouth, figuratively speaking. I just plow right in, instead of thinking about what I’m saying. I sometimes offend people because I’m so impulsive.”

“I’m not offended,” he said gently, and smiled. “But I can’t confirm or deny your supposition.”

She laughed softly. Her blue eyes sparkled like jewels. “Okay.”

She turned, reluctantly, and led the way into the dining room.

It was vast and like a maze. There were booths, formal tables and a bar all sharing the same general open space. Jasmine’s father was seated at a formal, small table near the wall where the bubble port opened onto glorious space. A comet was passing by and her father had touched the viewscreen that doubled as a force shield, to magnify the comet in order to study it.

“He loves space,” she told Mekashe as they walked. “He wanted to be a starship commander, but his health was bad. Back when he was a child, genetic engineering was out of fashion, so he had a bad heart and poor eyesight. He still has both. I’m afraid he doesn’t move with the times at all. I do worry about him.”

Mekashe was even more curious now.

Malford Dupont was forty-two, thin and graying, with a receding hairline and a stubborn chin. He seemed fascinated with the comet and oblivious to the two people approaching his table.

“Daddy?” Jasmine called softly.

His head jerked toward her and he blinked. He laughed. “Sorry, I find the comet absolutely fascinating. This tech is beyond anything I’ve ever known,” he added, indicating the many functions of the screen that permitted magnification of space objects. His eyebrows lifted as he noted his daughter’s companion.

“I got lost, again.” Jasmine laughed. She looked up. “Mekashe helped me find my way here. Mekashe, this is my father, Dr. Malford Dupont.”

“Sir,” Mekashe said formally, and bowed. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Jasmine’s father stood and bowed, as well. “And mine, to make yours. Mekashe. You’re Cehn-Tahr,” he added, as if fascinated.

Mekashe nodded, a very human mannerism.

“Of all the coincidences.” The other man chuckled. “In fact, Jasmine and I are en route to your home planet, Memcache. I was chosen to be the first human ambassador to the Cehn-Tahr.”

Mekashe smiled. “I knew of the emperor’s plan to allow such an embassy, but I had no knowledge of the person who would occupy the position. I am doubly honored to meet you. I hope that you and your daughter will be content on my planet.”

“It really is a coincidence.” Jasmine laughed, bubbling over with joy that her new friend lived on the very planet where her father would be stationed.

Mekashe smiled. “A delightful one.”

“Won’t you join us for dinner, young man?” the ambassador asked politely.

It was difficult to find a reason to refuse. He didn’t want to. But the Cehn-Tahr were not vegetarians, and they ate most of their meals in a form that would offend human sensitivities. “I would have enjoyed it, but I have a prior commitment. Perhaps another time? Since we all seem to be equally confined on this vessel for a matter of weeks, we may find many opportunities to speak together.”

“A true pleasure,” Ambassador Dupont said, smiling. “Do you play chess, by any chance?”

Mekashe chuckled. “In fact, I do. I was taught by a human physician.” He didn’t mention that the physician was a clone, Dr. Strick Hahnson, who was a founding member of the Morcai Battalion. He didn’t want to mention his military ties just yet. Better to let them see him as just an ordinary citizen of an alien world.

“I would enjoy a match. Perhaps tomorrow morning? As they reckon mornings aboard ship, at least,” Dupont added.

“Just past the breakfast hour would suit me well,” Mekashe said.

“I’ll see you then.”

“I wish you both a good evening.” Mekashe bowed once more, gave Jasmine a lingering smile and left them.

Ambassador Dupont looked concerned as he watched Mekashe walk away.

“Is something wrong?” Jasmine asked when she sat down across from her father.

“We know so little about the Cehn-Tahr,” he told her with an apologetic smile. “But I’ve heard rumors that they’re easily offended. So you must be careful about the subjects you discuss with him. No politics. No religion.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I never discuss politics. That’s your department, Daddy, not mine,” she said with a grin. “And religion is something I never discuss outside the family.”

“Good,” he replied. “I’m twitchy, I suppose. The first human ambassador ever to be invited to Memcache. I’m afraid of making a mistake and shaming our government.” He made a face. “There were plenty of people who thought I was a bad choice in the first place. ‘An academic,’ they said in horror, ‘what does he know about politics and interplanetary relations?’”

“I think you’re wonderful,” she said. “And you’ll do fine. I promise I won’t complicate things for you. But Mekashe is very good-looking,” she added with downcast eyes. “He doesn’t even seem to think that I’m flighty.” She looked up. “Maybe they don’t have flighty people where he comes from.”

He chuckled. “From all that I hear about them, and it’s precious little, they’re a pristine and moral people with a very strict society.”

“The emperor’s son is married to a human physician,” she related. “Well, a former physician—Dr. Madeline Ruszel. There was a flash piece about her on a newscast I watched on the Nexus. She was fascinating.”

“A true pioneer. A brigadier general—” he laughed “—and in command of a battalion of female troops. One of my colleagues almost fell over when the announcement was made. In the history of the Cehn-Tahr, there’s never been a female in the military.”

“They say the emperor indulges her.” She sighed. “What a life she’s had. And now she has two sons with her bonded mate!”

The ambassador didn’t mention one other thing he’d been told in confidence, that there was some hush-hush genetic structuring to permit that mingling of very different DNA strands. He knew that the Cehn-Tahr had never mated outside their species before. On the other hand, Chacon, the famous Rojok field marshal, now head of the Rojok government, had bonded with the emperor’s daughter, Lyceria. There were also rumors that the leader of their notorious Holconcom had bonded with a human female, as well.

It gave him comfort, because if the government on Memcache had that tolerant an attitude about racial mixing, it meant that he wouldn’t have to walk on so many eggshells in the performance of his duties.

Just the same, he was uncomfortable about his only child. Jasmine was a sweet and kind young woman, but her tongue ran away with her at the best of times. It would be a disaster if she blurted something out that offended the emperor. He’d heard horror stories about old Tnurat’s temper and the ease with which he took offense at any slight from outworlders.

But that might be an exaggeration. Until he actually met the people he’d be interacting with, it was just as well to ignore rumors and gossip and stick to facts.

“You’re so serious!” she chided.

He laughed self-consciously. “I suppose I am. I’m just nervous. I’ve never done anything quite like this. The president of Terravega himself nominated me for the position and forced it through the houses of government. I don’t want to let him down. I was given the post over several far more qualified professional politicians. The decision didn’t sit well with them,” he added with a sigh. “I suppose they’ll be hoping that I’ll trip and break my neck, leaving the job open for one of them.”

“You’ll be fine,” she repeated, smiling. “You’re so smart, Daddy. It’s why they gave you the job. You get along well with people, too. Diplomacy is one skill I’ve never been able to conquer. I keep hoping, but my tongue just flaps at both ends.” She laughed. “There I go again. Mekashe said he’d need a translator because of all the idioms I use.”

“Cehn-Tahr speak most alien tongues, even the rare dialects,” he replied. “I think he was just teasing you.”

“I wonder what he does?” she said aloud. “I mean, he dresses well and this is an expensive form of travel...”

“We’ll have plenty of time to find out in the weeks ahead,” he assured her. “Meanwhile, eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

She sighed as the table opened up and hot platters of food that they’d ordered from the foodcomp appeared as if by magic. The table folded back into itself with utensils and plates neatly placed and food arranged in the center.

“It’s magic.” Jasmine laughed as she watched. “I’d heard about these foodcomps, but I confess, I didn’t quite believe the gossip.”

“Tech is gaining ground in the galaxy,” he agreed. “I’ve heard some amazing things about Kolmankash on Memcache. It’s the most famous tech development center in the three galaxies. They say the tech there really is like magic.”

“What sort of tech?”

He shook his head. “Nobody knows. The Cehn-Tahr don’t share intimate knowledge of their culture with outworlders. All we get are whispers.”

“Maybe Mekashe would take us there one day, to see the tech for ourselves,” she said dreamily.

He raised both eyebrows. “Let’s live one day at a time and not rush things,” he said.

She sighed. “Okay. But it’s hard.”

“Many things are. And that’s the truth,” he agreed as he watched his coffee cup fill itself.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Jasmine dressed with great care, in a very correct leisure gown of flared pale yellow skirts and a modest bodice that laced in front, with tiny sleeves that just covered her shoulders. Her bare arms were softly rounded, her nails manicured and trimmed. She wore her hair long, instead of in its usual high coiffure. It curled and waved down her back and fell around her shoulders in a pale blond cascade. She wore tiny aqua waterstones hooked in her earlobes, and used the lightest hint of a floral cologne. She hoped she looked good enough to impress a certain handsome alien.

She and her father had finished breakfast and were lounging in the recreation center at a wall table when Mekashe joined them.

He wore a very correct suit, with a banded shirt of blue and white, and slacks that outlined his powerful legs. He smiled as Jasmine almost ran to meet him.

“You look very nice,” he commented.

“So do you!” she burst out without thinking, and then flushed at her own boldness. “Daddy’s got the chessboard set up already,” she added quickly, to hide her self-consciousness.

“Good morning,” the new ambassador greeted, standing long enough to give Mekashe a formal bow, which was returned.

“Daddy was chess champion of the college where he taught,” she said.

“Indeed. Impressive,” Mekashe said politely.

“Well, reputations are easily destroyed, I’m afraid.” The ambassador chuckled. “I daresay you’ll beat the socks off me without much effort.”

“Socks.” Mekashe looked blank.

“They’re worn on the feet with shoes. Casual shoes,” Jasmine explained. “A very ancient sort of apparel. It means that you’ll win.”

“An odd manner of expression. Apologies,” he added with a smile.

“None needed,” the older man assured him. “Most idioms are odd, and I’ve come across them in an amazing array of human languages.”

“Truly, we find them in alien tongues, as well,” Mekashe said. He chuckled, or what passed for chuckling in a Cehn-Tahr. “There are several dialects of Rojok, including a quite ancient one which was never spoken by a human until Dr. Edris Mallory came along.”

“Dr. Mallory?” the ambassador asked softly.

He nodded. “She was a Cularian specialist before she bonded with a Cehn-Tahr of my acquaintance.”

Jasmine’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard many stories about Dr. Madeline Ruszel, but they don’t mention Dr. Mallory in the flash reports.”

“As you may have already gathered, we share very little of our culture with—” he hesitated to offend by saying “outworlders” “—other cultures,” he said instead.

“I’m quite good at keeping secrets,” the ambassador said, smiling. He glanced at his child a little warily. “My daughter, however...”

“I can so keep a secret,” she said, and made a face at him. “Well, really important ones, at least. I’m so excited that we’re actually going to live on your planet!” she added to Mekashe.

He smiled. “I think you will find it quite beautiful.”

“Does it look like Terravega?” she asked at once.

He shook his head. “We have no pressure domes, nor is there a need for them.” He cocked his head at her. “If you would like to see Memcache, I can arrange for a holo of it in one of the rooms.”

“I would love that!” Jasmine enthused.

“You are also welcome to view it,” Mekashe told the ambassador easily, and smiled again. “It will help you to understand us if you see the manner in which we live.”

“But you said that you couldn’t share things with people outside your culture,” Jasmine began, puzzled.

“An ambassador and his family would hardly qualify as people outside,” he said gently. “Since you will be living among us. The taboo only applies to those who have no connection with us.”

“I see.” She beamed.

He was entranced by her beauty. He had thought her gorgeous the night before, but in the artificial light of “day,” she was even more exquisite. Her hair fascinated him. It was long and curling and glorious. He ached to touch it.

He cleared his throat as he seated himself across the chessboard from the human. “So,” he began. “Who goes first?”

* * *

JASMINE ENJOYED WATCHING the match. Mekashe won with staggering ease, but the ambassador was good-natured and didn’t seem to mind.

Meanwhile, Jasmine was filling her fascinated eyes with their guest. She’d never been so entranced by a male of any species. He had thick black hair. It had a definite wave to it. He kept it short, but she could imagine that if it had grown long, it might have the same curl that her own did.

He had a very muscular physique. She wondered what he did for a living, because he didn’t seem the sort of man to be a diplomat or even a sedate aristocrat. He had the hard, honed look of a man who made his living in ways that might not fit in parlor society.

She wondered at the quick look Mekashe gave her while she processed the thought, almost as if he read her mind. She laughed to herself. She’d never read that any of the Cehn-Tahr were telepaths. She was being fanciful.

“You’re quite skilled, young man,” the ambassador mused.

Mekashe laughed. He was, by human measure, over two hundred and fifty years old. The ambassador, in his forties, had no idea of the true life span of the race he was going to live among. Nor was it Mekashe’s place to tell him so much, not yet, at least. He could share images of Memcache, since the ambassador and his daughter would live there. He could even share common knowledge, like the ability of Cehn-Tahr eyes to change color. But anything more intimate was taboo.

“You have great skill yourself,” Mekashe replied. “But I have been playing for a longer time than you might imagine.”

The ambassador lifted an eyebrow and smiled secretly. He’d been told by Admiral Lawson that the Cehn-Tahr had somewhat modified life spans, and they put human age in the shade. He didn’t share the knowledge.

Mekashe read it and averted his eyes, so that he didn’t give away his telepathic abilities. “Another match?” he asked.

The ambassador chuckled and started setting up the pieces.

* * *

MEKASHE LEFT THEM just before luncheon was served, with the excuse that he had to report to his employer through the Nexus.

“What sort of work do you do?” Jasmine asked innocently.

“I am attached to the political wing of my society,” he said evasively, but with a smile. “My employer works at the Dectat.”

“I see.” She had no idea what a Dectat was.

“You seem disappointed,” he teased. “Did you think I might be secretly a pirate?”

She gasped and laughed out loud, beaming up at him. “Oh no. At least, I would never have said so...!”

“Liar,” he teased gently.

She flushed delightfully. “You just don’t seem like a man who does a desk job. That’s all,” she told him.

He wasn’t. She’d read him quite accurately, without knowing a thing about him. A good omen, perhaps.

He studied her with aching eyes. He wanted desperately to touch her, at least to brush that amazing hair with his fingertips and see if it was as soft as it looked. He couldn’t. There was no way...

He had a thought. Hahnson might know a way. The human physician had, in times long past, been bonded with a Cehn-Tahr female. Mekashe knew nothing about the relationship, but he did know that it had existed. He could contact Hahnson. It would not be taboo to speak with a man who had Cehn-Tahr citizenship and who was best friends with the emperor’s son about a delicate subject like that.

“You look odd,” Jasmine remarked.

“I’ve had a rather delightful thought,” he mused.

“Can I know what it is?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Not just yet. There is a lecture on comet patterns on the observation deck this evening. I plan to attend. If you and your father wish to join me...”

“We’d love to come!” she interrupted, certain that her father would find it fascinating. And she could be with Mekashe again.

He read that thought with utter delight. “Then I’ll see you on the observation deck just after dinner.”

“I’ll be there. With Daddy,” she added reluctantly.

The reluctance she displayed about her father’s presence made him feel warm inside. He made her a soft bow and left her, his mind whirling with possibilities.

CHAPTER TWO

MEKASHE HAD TO go through channels to get to Dr. Strick Hahnson aboard the Holconcom flagship, Morcai. That meant he had first to speak to its commander, his best friend, Rhemun.

“What are you doing aboard a commercial vessel?” Rhemun asked as the holon was initiated and his friend was standing in the room with him in a three-dimensional figure that could be interacted with. The avatar had the same flesh-and-blood reality as its original. They locked forearms in a show of affection.

“I have a problem,” Mekashe confessed, laughing. He reverted to his true form in the communication, not the almost-human-looking one he shared with outworlders. His true form was larger, taller, more massive than the camouflaged one. He had a face just a little more catlike than the familiar humanoid one that he showed to strangers, with a broad nose and a thick mane, and ears that were placed slightly differently than a human’s. There was no visible fur and he had no tail, as cats did. But the resemblance to a galot—the sentient cats of Eridanus Three—was notable, even if Cehn-Tahr were humanoid enough not to raise eyebrows in a crowd.

“What sort of problem?” Rhemun asked.

“One of the heart,” came the amused reply. “I told you when we were boys, about the visions I had...”

“...of a tall, willowy blonde human female, yes, I recall.” Rhemun gave a mock glare. “You thought it might be Edris, despite her lack of height.”

Mekashe laughed. “I must confess that I did. But I have now encountered the living vision.” He drew in a breath. “She is magnificent,” he added. “Beyond my dreams.”

Rhemun cocked his head. “And this is a problem?”

“We have only just met,” his friend replied, dropping into a chair beside Rhemun’s desk. “I do not wish to rush things. The emperor forced me to take a civilian mode of transport,” he began.

“Yes, because you refuse R & R and he thinks you push yourself too hard. Your lieutenant is performing admirably in your absence.”

“Just as well, because I now have no desire to rush home. However, she will be coming with me when I arrive.” He grinned at his friend’s surprise. “Her father is our new Terravegan ambassador.”

Rhemun burst out laughing. “Now, that is a true coincidence,” he remarked.

“As I thought, also.” He drew in a long breath. “So, as you see, I must go carefully forward. I feel an attraction that I do not wish to get out of hand. I want to approach Hahnson for advice,” he added. “But for that, I must have your permission. And your promise of silence.”

“The emperor will know,” Rhemun began.

Mekashe pulled out a small, glowing white ball. It would conceal thoughts from a telepath, even one as formidable as old Tnurat. “This is an innovation on the original design,” he confessed. “I must not announce my feelings to the emperor just yet.”

Rhemun understood. “There will be no issue,” he said. “The emperor reveres humans since Madeline Ruszel has given him two beautiful grandchildren.”

“Still, I must not rush things. I belong, as you do, to the Royal Clan. There are rumors, and only rumors, that too much mixing with the humans might provoke difficulties in the Dectat.”

Rhemun smiled. “Not as long as Tnurat rules. Did you not hear that he punched the president of the Dectat for an altercation with Dtimun over Ruszel’s rescue when her ship crashed on Akaashe?”

Mekashe chuckled. “I did, indeed. That is a long-standing feud.”

“Both are stubborn.”

“Good leaders.”

“Agreed.” Rhemun got up. “You have my permission to speak to Hahnson, and I promise not to mention it until you give me equal permission.” He chuckled. “Will that do?”

“Indeed it will.”

“I wish you great good fortune with the ambassador’s daughter. And I look forward to meeting her, as well.”

“How is Edris?” Mekashe asked.

“Recovering very well. Would you like to see our daughter?” he added.

“Yes!”

Rhemun pulled out a miniature holo and held it up. There was a tiny, black-headed baby in the cradle of her beaming mother’s arms. Edris, looking as lovely as ever before, and Kipling, their son, standing beside his mother, grinning.

“This is Larisse,” he said with pride.

“A delightful child! She will look more like you than Kipling does, I think,” Mekashe commented.

“I think so, as well. She is the light of my life already, as my son and my mate already were.” The little girl was only the second female born into Clan Alamantimichar in thousands of years. Princess Lyceria was the first.

“I rejoice in your good fortune,” Mekashe said. “And I look forward to rejoicing in my own!”

“Speak to Hahnson. I’ll see you before you leave, yes?”

“Of course!”

* * *

STRICK HAHNSON LOOKED more like a wrestler than a physician. He had been with the Morcai Battalion since its creation, in the horror of the Rojok death camp, Ahkmau. At least, his original had been. The true Hahnson was tortured and killed by the Rojoks, who were trying to find an almost fatally ill Dtimun hidden in the camp by his cellmates. Dtimun had cloned the physician for Captain Holt Stern and Dr. Madeline Ruszel as recompense for snatching them out of the Terravegan Strategic Space Command and into the ranks of his newly formed Morcai Battalion. It had been a bittersweet reunion. Stern, too, was a clone. In the old days, the two of them would never have been able to return to Terravegan society because they were clones. There was a terrible prejudice there. But the emperor, out of gratitude for their help in saving his son, had given all the humans of the Morcai Battalion Cehn-Tahr citizenship. The clones of the Holconcom, and the human ones, had meshed quite well together.

Hahnson looked up, surprised to see Mekashe walking into his lab. He grinned and locked forearms. “What a nice surprise,” he enthused. “How in the world did you get here without the ship alerting everybody?”

“The holon,” Mekashe said easily, and with a smile. Hahnson was one of only a handful of humans who knew about the holon tech. “I have a very personal matter to discuss.”

“Still amazes me,” Strick said, walking around the Tri-D3-d image to study Mekashe. “I can even touch you,” he added, doing it, “and you feel real.”

“It suffices, when mates are separated,” the other male remarked wickedly.

“Well, sit down. How are you liking your new job? And why are you here?”

Mekashe took out the white noise ball and put it on the table. “New tech,” he told Hahnson. “It can even block the emperor. You did not hear me say this, because I am not here.”

“Absolutely,” Hahnson agreed, grinning.

“You were bonded to a Cehn-Tahr during the end of the Great Galaxy War, were you not?” Mekashe asked, very solemnly. “I apologize for bringing up such a painful subject,” he added quickly when he saw the look on Hahnson’s face.

“It was a long time ago.” Hahnson took a deep breath. “I have all the memories of my original, including that one. She was a suicide. After all the years in between, it still is an agony to remember.”

“A suicide?” Mekashe asked, stunned.

“You didn’t know. It’s all right. Only a very few people do.” He sat down. “It’s something I don’t talk about. But, yes, we were bonded.”

“Which is why I’m permitted to discuss something quite intimate with you,” Mekashe hastened to add. “You know what rigid rules of culture permeate our society.”

“I do,” the other male said.

Mekashe locked his hands together and studied them. “I have met a female. A human.” He managed a faint smile. “For many years, I had a vision of such a human. I knew her, without knowing her, almost all my life. I thought at first that Edris Mallory was her personification. But in my visions, the female found me equally attractive, and Edris had eyes only for Rhemun.” He lifted his eyes to Hahnson’s. “Now I have met the true female, the one from the visions. She is everything I knew, all that I expected. But the attraction I feel for her is growing too quickly. I have no desire to frighten her or shock her. Like most humans, she has no idea about the mating rituals, how deadly they can be to other males. I want to touch her.” He bit off the words and made a face, like a grimace. “But I dare not. I was wondering, hoping, that there might be some bit of medical tech that could permit touch without the danger of triggering a mating behavior.”

“I think I have just what you need,” Hahnson said, moving to his medicomp. “In fact, you’re in luck, because this is cutting-edge tech, only just released. It was meant for diplomatic use, but I understand that it has been employed covertly for a number of other reasons.”

“What does it do?”

“It coats the skin in nanobytes,” Hahnson said. He pulled up a top secret vid, showing the range of protection it encompassed. “It’s undetectable, much like certain poisons developed on old Earth millennia ago.”

“And it can be trusted not to fail?” the alien asked with some concern.

Hahnson shook his head. “Well, as far as we know.” He hesitated. He was the physician for the human element aboard the Morcai, not their resident Cularian expert who specialized in Cehn-Tahr, Rojok and other alien species. But he heard from Tellas, Edris Mallory’s former assistant, that Mekashe had physiology much like Dtimun, who was the product of generations of genetic improvement.

“Something disturbs you,” Mekashe perceived.

Hahnson shrugged. “It’s probably nothing,” he said after a minute. “You know that there can be issues between different species, especially in intimate contact.”

“Yes, I know of this,” Mekashe said easily. He smiled. “It is not a concern.”

What he meant was that he knew Rhemun had no difficulty in mating with Edris, and he also knew that Dtimun and Madeline Ruszel had mated and produced two children. He had no idea that Rhemun’s branch of the Clan had no genetic modification or that Madeline had to undergo genetic modification to mate with Dtimun.

Hahnson, who assumed that the other Cehn-Tahr had made him aware of the issues, just smiled. “Okay, then. I’ll just create a few vials of the tech so that you won’t run out. How long is this trip going to take?”

“Several weeks,” Mekashe said with a wistful sigh. “I look forward to getting to know Jasmine.”

“Jasmine. A lovely name.”

“She is a lovely creature,” Mekashe replied softly. “I have never encountered such a being in all my travels. She has no hauteur at all, no sense of superiority. She is humble and sweet and—how did she put it?—scattered.”

Hahnson’s eyebrows went up and he chuckled while he worked. “I like her already.”

“Her father seems quite nice,” he added. “He will be the first Terravegan ambassador to Memcache. An intelligent man, with a background in history and politics. He was a professor of political science on Terravega.”

Hahnson frowned. “An odd choice for an ambassador.”

“I thought this, as well. Most political figures are, well, less than brilliant.”

Hahnson grinned. “And, in fact, some of them are stupid.”

“I would put the former Terravegan ambassador in that class without fail,” Mekashe recalled. “Although Taylor was never allowed to set foot on Memcache. Dtimun hated him.”

“So did most of the humans in the Holconcom, especially after he denied permission for us to launch a rescue effort when Madeline Ruszel’s ship went down on Akaashe.”

“Those were dark days. Taylor was executed for treason for his collusion with the Rojoks during the war. I did not mourn. Those were dark days.”

“Very dark,” Hahnson replied. “Madeline was special. She is special. She and Stern and I served together for ten years. We’d have gladly died for her. Ambassador Taylor not only refused permission to search for her crashed ship, he recalled all Terravegan personnel from other services. We actually had to mutiny to stay in the Holconcom and go with Dtimun to save her.”

“A noble undertaking.”

Hahnson smiled. “Noble, indeed.” He finished programming the medicomp and glanced at his companion. “Did you know that Chacon himself went to negotiate with the Nagaashe for Madeline’s release?”

“Chacon and also the emperor, if gossip serves,” Mekashe replied.

“Absolutely. She had powerful allies, even back then. She saved the emperor’s life on Ondar.”

“We heard about that from Rhemun,” Mekashe said. He chuckled. “He was fascinated with her even before they met. Dtimun had some small jealousy of him, in fact, before Komak was born.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. Madeline was crazy about the CO almost from the beginning.” He shook his head. “You can’t imagine the shock when she and Dtimun came aboard the Morcai after their trip to Benaski Port to save Chacon’s life, and Madeline was pregnant. Talk about gossip that went on for days...!”

“I imagine it was intense.”

“Very, especially under the circumstances,” Hahnson agreed, not understanding that Mekashe had no idea what he meant. “In the history of the Cehn-Tahr, there had never been a child born of a human mother and a Cehn-Tahr father.”

“Because of the racial laws,” Mekashe agreed.

“Well, that, too,” Hahnson conceded. He tossed the vials into a vacuum bag and passed it to his former crewmate. “That should be more than enough. But just in case, you can flash me and I can have more couriered to you aboard the passenger ship. You know to watch for signs of allergic reaction, right? Any swelling, redness, sore throat, rash, things like that.”

“I have an amazing constitution.” Mekashe chuckled. “I am never allergic to anything.”

“That isn’t what they say,” his companion replied, tongue in cheek. “Wasn’t there something about you and a flagon of synthale in a bar somewhere on Kurkason...?”

Mekashe cleared his throat. “That was a long time ago. During an unfortunate hunt that ended out on the rim. I was younger.”

“Ah. That would explain it. A few broken bones, a diplomatic incident—the emperor had to intervene with the local authorities...?”

Mekashe almost blushed.

Hahnson grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist it. You guys are so formidable that it tickles us humans when you slip, even though you very rarely do. We don’t feel so inferior.”

“Humans are hardly inferior,” Mekashe retorted. “We have different areas of advantage. Ours is strength and speed. Yours is compassion and tenacity.”

“Thanks,” Hahnson said.

“It makes for an interesting combination, the humans and Cehn-Tahr in the Holconcom,” Mekashe replied. “I miss the unit,” he added gently. “While it is a great honor to command the kehmatemer, the emperor’s personal bodyguard, I miss pitting my skill against Rhemun’s in the Kahn-Bo.”

“I think he misses it, too. But his son, Kipling, is almost as formidable as you are, on the mat.”

“Kipling and Dtimun’s son, Komak, are almost old enough to join the military. Although, between us, I think Kipling will be the greater warrior. Komak enjoys more cerebral pursuits. I think he may make a scientist, like his grandmother the empress.”

“She is formidable.”

“Yes, indeed.” He held up the vacuum pack. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re most welcome. I wish you great good fortune.”

Mekashe frowned slightly. “You sounded as if more than the racial laws kept Ruszel and Dtimun apart,” he began.

Just as he said it, the alert sounded. Rhemun’s deep voice came over the intership frequency, in Cehn-Tahr, announcing a mission and calling for all hands to report immediately to their stations.

“It doesn’t matter.” Mekashe shrugged it off with a smile. “Thank you, again.”

“My pleasure. We’ll talk again.”

“Certainly.”

* * *

HE STOPPED BACK by the command deck to say his farewells to Rhemun.

“I miss the excitement of these engagements,” he confessed to his friend, who was forwarding new orders to his officers over the vid screen.

“I sometimes miss guarding the emperor.” Rhemun chuckled. “But we must do what our Clan status dictates.”

“We must. Thank you for allowing me access to Hahnson. I’ll be in touch.”

“Keep well.”

“And you.”

* * *

MEKASHE SWITCHED OFF the holon, after he retrieved the vacuum bag from the device, where it was captured just before his departure from the Morcai. The technology was amazing, even to the Cehn-Tahr who had used it for generations. It was almost undetectable as apart from reality. The ability to touch and taste, to physically interact with other humanoids, was like magic.

He was grateful, because he’d never have been able to make the trip in real time to rendezvous with the Morcai and retrieve his precious cargo before the passenger ship docked at Memcache. And he didn’t want to waste a single second of this new and exciting relationship he was beginning with Jasmine.

* * *

HE USED A trace of the nanotech on his hands and face and hoped fervently that it would work as intended. He couldn’t afford to trigger a mating behavior, not now. He did wonder at what Hahnson had said, about the racial laws being in addition to some other concern about interspecies mating. But he put it out of his mind. Surely it was insignificant.

He went out to meet Jasmine and her father, dressed in a modern suit that was adapted to Cehn-Tahr standards. It was of a soft fabric that emphasized the powerful muscles in his arms and legs, and of a soft blue color that highlighted his pale gold skin and thick, jet-black hair.

Jasmine almost ran to meet him when he came into the lounge area. She was dressed in a very becoming soft blue dress that fell to her ankles. It flowed around her slender body. Like the other dress he’d seen her wear, it was extremely conservative, with a high neckline and long sleeves, in a floral blue pattern.

“How well we match,” Mekashe teased.

She flushed and her blue eyes twinkled. “Yes, we do.”

“A good omen,” he added in his soft, deep voice. “Do you like opera?”

Her lips fell open. “Oh, I love it!”

“I arranged to get tickets for the performance tomorrow evening of a Terravegan opera company. They are performing something called Madama Butterfly.” He frowned. “Does it have something to do with a form of insect...?”

She laughed, delighted. “No. I’ll explain it to you,” she said. “If that was an invitation, I would love to go. With you,” she added.

His heart lifted. “I can get another ticket, if your father...?”

“Hates opera,” she said at once, and flushed at her boldness. “He likes music, but he prefers instrumentals.”

His smile broadened. “Then he won’t mind if I escort just you?”

“I’m certain that he won’t,” she said. “I’m of age, you know,” she added quickly, in case he thought she had to have her parent’s permission. After all, eighteen was considered adult status now, with the small wars ongoing in the three galaxies. Most of the regular space navy and army recruits were themselves eighteen. A politician had written the current law, with the justification that if a soldier was old enough to die for his political affiliation, he was old enough to be considered an adult and served liquor in a bar.

Mekashe had never considered her age. She seemed not much removed from that of Princess Lyceria, who was also young at barely seventy years. He didn’t realize that humans had life spans far abbreviated from that of Cehn-Tahr, who could live for hundreds of years. In fact, Mekashe himself had seen two hundred and fifty years.

They stood in the corridor, staring at each other, smiling, while passengers walked around them with amused, hidden smiles.

“I suppose we’re blocking traffic,” Mekashe said after a near collision with a very heavy passenger. “We should go.”

“Yes...!” She caught her breath as he reached for her hand and slowly closed his big one around it.

The contact was electrifying, but it didn’t produce any unwanted urges to attack other males. Apparently, Hahnson’s nanotech worked well.

Mekashe smiled at her look of surprise. “In special cases, we can touch humans,” he said after a few seconds. “The racial laws forbidding it have been repealed. However, I had to make certain requests,” he added nebulously.

Her fingers, cool and shivery, closed shyly around his big hand. He felt very warm. She studied his hard, handsome face. “You’re very warm,” she said hesitantly.

He smiled. “My body temperature is somewhere around three degrees warmer than that of a human. You feel nicely cool to me.”

“How fascinating,” she exclaimed. She studied him. “You look like a human with what we call a golden tan,” she added. “Except for your eyes changing color, you don’t look any different from us.”

A misconception, he thought, and a large one. But he didn’t correct it.

“Have you seen a lot of aliens?” she asked after a minute.

He nodded. “Many.”

“Do they all look like you and me?” she wanted to know.

He pursed his lips. “There is a species of giant serpent, which we call the Nagaashe, who are the height of a two-story building. They are vegetarians. They have blue eyes and they purr.”

She caught her breath. “I’m deathly afraid of serpents,” she said, shivering. “They’re very dangerous.”

“The Nagaashe belong to the Tri-Galaxy Council,” he told her. “They are sentient and telepathic.”

“Amazing!”

“There are also species with tentacles instead of legs, and a rare sort of giant spider that feeds on salt water and plankton.”

“All I’ve ever seen were other humans,” she told him wistfully. “I’m so afraid that I’ll embarrass Daddy by blurting out something unforgivable in company. I’m very unsophisticated.”

“I find you charming, Jasmine,” he said softly. “And I cannot believe that you would ever be an embarrassment to anyone, least of all your parent.”

She smiled broadly. “Thanks.”

He cocked his head. “Do you have other family?” he asked.

“You mean siblings?” She shook her head. “No. My mother was killed in an accident. Daddy never wanted to remarry.”

He studied her soft, beautiful face and thought that he knew how that felt. He’d never known love between a male and a female, but he was certain that if Jasmine became his consort, he would never be able to look at another female, no matter what happened.

“You aren’t going to have to leave, before we get to Memcache?” she asked worriedly as they walked slowly toward the recreation area.

“No. Why?”

She glanced up and away. “Well, I don’t really know anybody else aboard, and Daddy’s always got his nose stuck in a virtual book. It’s very lonely.” She flushed.

He chuckled and his big hand tightened around hers.

“Ouch!” she said suddenly.

He loosened his hold. “Too tight? Forgive me,” he said.

Her hand felt incredibly bruised, but she only smiled and said it was all right. She noticed that he was more careful when he claimed her hand again. She’d never known someone so strong.

He felt guilty when he saw her discomfort. He hadn’t realized that he was hurting her. Perhaps humans were a little more fragile than he’d expected. He’d speak to Hahnson about that the next time he saw him.

They joined Dr. Dupont at one of the tables and listened with fascination to a virtual lecture about the periodic comets in this region of space and their relationship to the dark matter surrounding it.

Jasmine tried very hard to concentrate on what was said, but her hand was oddly painful. She wondered at the strength in Mekashe’s hand. Her hand felt bruised, but she wasn’t going to mention it. She knew that he hadn’t meant to hurt her. He was very strong!

* * *

AFTER THE LECTURE, they walked out in the corridor and Mekashe grimaced as he had a flash on his communications ring.

“I must speak with a colleague below,” he said, not wanting to mention that Tresar, a fellow member of the Royal Clan and a member of the emperor’s Imperial Guard, like Mekashe, asked to see him. Tresar disliked morphing into the human form that Mekashe used so easily, so he stayed in his true form and out of sight. He would never venture farther than the gym. “I hate to leave so soon. But tomorrow night, the opera?” he asked Jasmine.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she said with breathless enthusiasm.

He glanced at her father, glad to see that he was smiling. “Perhaps another chess match tomorrow?” he asked.

The ambassador chuckled. “Of course!”

“Then I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he said, glancing at Jasmine with a smile as he left, very reluctantly.

She watched him until he was out of sight.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Jasmine was waiting in the corridor when she spotted Mekashe. She went to him, excited, almost running. “Good morning!” she said, laughing with pleasure.

“Good morning,” he replied huskily. “Did you sleep well?”

“I barely slept at all,” she said breathlessly, looking up at him with wonder.

“Nor did I,” he replied. He reached for her hand and cradled it in his, very gently this time.

They stood looking at each other until they were jostled by other guests and realized they were blocking the way to the dining room.

Mekashe laughed as he turned and drew her along with him to the table where her father was sitting. He could hear her heart beat, it was so loud. It made him feel joyful to know how attracted she already was.

Ambassador Dupont was waiting for them with a chessboard already set up on the table. “Good morning,” he said to Mekashe, and chuckled when he noticed his daughter holding hands with their guest.

“Good morning.” Mekashe let go of Jasmine’s hand reluctantly and sat down at the table with the new ambassador. “I have looked forward to this game. Few of my acquaintances are familiar with it.”

“I have the same issue. It’s nice to find someone who shares the interest.”

“Daddy, Mekashe is taking me to the opera tonight. Okay?” Jasmine asked hurriedly.

“Of course.” Dr. Dupont grinned at her. “Do I hear a gown request forming in your mind?”

She flushed. “Well, my old one is outdated,” she began.

He tugged his credit chip out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Have fun,” he said, waving her away.

She laughed. “I’ll buy something beautiful,” she said. “I won’t be long!”

Ambassador Dupont watched her go with twinkling eyes. “She was dreading this move. Thank you for giving her something to look forward to,” he added. “She’s been painfully sheltered and I’ve pretty much thrown her into the deep end of the swimming pool. She’d never seen an alien before we boarded this vessel.”

“She seems to be doing remarkably well,” Mekashe said.

“That’s because she hasn’t seen a race that she considers frightening yet,” the professor said with a sigh. He shook his head. “I showed her a vid of the Vegan delegation and I thought she was going to have heart failure. And they’re very humanoid.”

“She will adjust,” Mekashe said gently.

“She’ll have to. I just pray that she doesn’t say anything impulsive and cause offense. Of course, on Memcache, there are people just like us, so there shouldn’t be any surprises.”

Which meant that Jasmine didn’t know, nor did her father, that the Cehn-Tahr weren’t what they appeared. He felt a momentary twinge of fear at the thought that Jasmine might find him frightening. But then, he was facing problems before they appeared. It was stupid.

“You may go first,” Mekashe told the professor with a smile.

The other humanoid chuckled. “Fine. Queen to queen’s pawn four,” he said, in the classic opening move.

* * *

JASMINE STOPPED BY the surgery on her way to purchase the dress. She hadn’t wanted to mention how painful her hand really was, where Mekashe had held it the night before. She hadn’t slept because it felt so badly bruised. She hadn’t wanted to say anything about it to Mekashe, who would be horrified to know that he’d caused her so much pain. She couldn’t bear to hurt his feelings. But the pain was really bad and she was going to have to let a doctor look at her hand.

“I slammed a drawer on it,” she explained to the surgeon on call with a faint grimace. “Is it a bad bruise?”

“It’s a bad break, young woman,” the older man said quietly. “No worries, I can fix it. But you must be more careful. Even with our modern tech, broken bones can be tricky, especially the tiny ones in the hand.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised.

She was shocked. She hadn’t realized how strong Mekashe’s hands were. She knew that he hadn’t meant to hurt her. But the injury made her nervous. If just holding hands could cause such damage, what about anything more?

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.

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