Meant To Be

Desperate times call for the most desperate and terrible of measure, and with the life of the Draconis soon to be decided, all parties are taking whatever measures are necessary. But a failed assasination attempt lands Pyotr Kavalerov in the very last place he ever expected to be, trapped with the one person capable of cracking the shields of the notorious High Chancellor. Without their most powerful supporter, the fate of the Draconis grows ever more precarious, especially as treachery comes from an unexpected source.

P 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 ...

 

Prologue

Planet 2154014 (Tredad), Chelsan Manor

"I hate uncontrolled climates. I never understood why anyone would choose to live here."

"Sir," the IG private said, ignoring the sour comments, "if you'll come this way."

"Yes, yes."

Turning neatly on his heel, the private led the way across the small field, shoving easily through the snow, seeming not to notice the biting, howling wind that threw ice and snow in his face.

"I hate this confounded planet."

"Ah, Lower Chancellor, you are at last arrived."

The Lower Chancellor glowered at the speaker, a white-skinned human with dark green eyes and military-trim brown hair. He wore the dark blue uniform of IG soldiers, with the marks of a Captain and the tri-star crest of those who did interplanetary work. "Captain September," he said, voice as cold as the storm outside. "Everyone is being remarkably unhelpful in explaining to me why I have been dragged back to this freezing hell."

"Knowing you, they were too terrified," September said bluntly.

Rolling his eyes, the Lower Chancellor shucked off his cumbersome fur-lined coat and gloves, then sat to strip off his snow boots. He was a stern looking man, medium-blond hair trimmed short, wispy strands falling over his forehead. His pale blue eyes were cool, at complete odds with the impatience obvious in his tone and manner. He was slender, and taller than everyone else in the room. Smoothing out his steel gray sweater and black slacks, he accepted a steaming mug from a private and then finally returned his attention to the patiently waiting September. "So let's have an end to the mysteries."

"She murdered her husband and then killed herself," September said. "We are still determining motive."

The Lower Chancellor frowned. "Bloody idiot. What was she thinking?" He grimaced in disgust. "Of course she wasn't thinking, when did that fool ever think? How?"

"Knife. She stabbed him several times and then slit her wrists."

"How typical of her," the Lower Chancellor replied, though he could not keep the horror completely from his face. He frowned into his drink, then pinned his pale blue eyes on September. "Why could this not simply be reported to me back at Zero?"

Silence. September stared at him, clearly surprised. "I know you did not speak with your sister often, sir, but surely you knew…"

"My sister and I were dead to each other. What do I not know that was so important it woke me up and forced me to rearrange several days' worth of work and meetings?"

September looked almost panicked. "Sir…you're his only surviving relative."

The Lower Chancellor went still, then slowly and carefully set his mug down. "Only surviving relative?"

"Your sister had a son." September motioned to a door at the far end of the room. "He and his caretaker were the ones to find the body…"

"Leave it to my sister to be that cruel to her own child. At least she didn't kill the boy as well." He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair agitatedly. "What am I supposed to do with a child?" He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, then released it as a long slow sigh. "No wonder no one wanted to tell me anything," he muttered Striding across the room, he shoved open the door September had indicated - then stopped.

The boy curled up in a large chair, sobbing hard enough to make himself sick, looked so much like himself at that age it was terrifying. The Lower Chancellor hastily withdrew, wholly unprepared to deal with the situation. He was a Lower Chancellor, well on his way to High Chancellor. His sister had always fallen just short of being dragged off to Rehab. He'd managed to escape his worthless family. She had reveled in being part of it.

What was he supposed to do with her child? The easiest recourse would be to have the boy shipped off to where he could be cared for, educated, and eventually adopted. Wash his hands of his infernal family once and for all.

But the sobs tore at him. How many nights had he done the very same thing as a boy, growing up in the scummiest parts of Tredad with a family that had thrived in the scum?

He couldn't bring himself to do that to this boy, though how he was going to raise a child only the stars knew. The Lower Chancellor sighed. "What's his name?"

September looked at him in surprise. "So you're going to take him?"

The Lower Chancellor sighed. "I might be a bastard, Captain, but even I am not so cruel as to abandon a child. I repeat - what is the boy's name?"

"Pyotr."

Twenty years later

Planet 000000 (Zero), Palace of Eternity

There was blood everywhere. The bodies. The floor.

The screaming young man who wouldn't let go of his dead parents, his stunningly-beautiful features twisted by shock, fear and pain. He clung to his mother and father, oblivious to the blood that covered him, soaked into his silk robes, his long, unbound hair. Tears streamed down his face and his voice was already getting raw and hoarse from screaming and sobbing. Pale skin turned into a sick pallor and everyone watching wondered that the poor thing hadn't already passed out.

Several people tried to drag him away as the authorities and medics arrived, but no one succeeded. Every time they tried, long, sharp nails raked whatever flesh they found first. Minutes passed as people hovered, uncertain what to do, until at last one man broke through the crowds and dropped down beside the screaming young man.

Nails lashed out as the man tried to pull the boy away, but they couldn't get through the heavy brocade of his formal jackets, and eventually the sobbing young man was at last torn away from the bodies he'd refused to let go.

"Jade, shh, Jade…I've got you."

Collapsing into his arm, Jade sobbed harder than ever, choking and gasping for breath but unable to stop sobbing long enough to truly breathe. "Go-Gory-"

"Jade, hush. Calm down."

Anger let him breathe. "Calm down! I cannot calm down! How dare you when they-they-they-" The shouting abruptly turned into a moaning sob, and Jade collapsed into the arms of the man who held him.

Gory Cohen smiled at the tall, pale man who had sedated Jade. "Thank you, Pyotr."

"Of course Lower Chancellor. Shall I take him for you?"

"Yes, please. Put him in my rooms here, and I will take him home shortly. Stars, I hope Cyan…"

Pyotr nodded and lifted the slender boy into his arm, barreling his way through the crowds that parted for the solemn looking man. He towered over most of them, his fine hair nearly white, eyes a sharp, pale blue. In the black and silver uniform of the Infinitum Government, he made a stunning sight. In his arms, Jade Alexander was slender and fine-boned, far too beautiful for his tender sixteen years. Tears smudged his face, still so tense even as he lay sedated.

Ignoring the fervor around him, Pyotr continued through the halls of the palace until he finally left the panicked crowd behind, wending his way until he reached a suite of rooms that opened at his touch. Inside, the warm scent of vanilla and clover filled rooms richly appointed in deep lavender and dark honey-gold.

Gingerly he laid Jade out on a plush settee, then smoothed back his gold-brown hair. He grimaced at the bloodstained clothes and began to strip away the outer robes, leaving Jade in only his pants and short under tunic. Tenderly he wiped away the drying tears, splashes of blood, murmuring softly as Jade made the most piteous, heart-wrenching noises.

When the cries only worsened, Pyotr bundled the young man close, offering all the comfort he could. "Jade…"

The sound of doors opening and closing, strained voices speaking in terse, anxious tones, drove him to set Jade back down upon the couch, though he held fast to his hand.

"Pyotr," Gory said, face tight with strain and misery. "Thank you for your help. I will take him home now."

"Yes, Lower Chancellor." Pyotr obediently stood and watched as Cohen ordered an Authority to pick the boy up, then led the way from his rooms. Once they were gone, he forced himself into motion, to go back to his duties and the people relying upon him.

Chapter One

Planet 0000000 (Zero), Palace of Eternity

"Floor's a bit unnerving, yeah?" Zon grinned.

"Yeah," Valendel agreed, unable to take his eyes from it. The floor of the Palace of Eternity was famous across galaxies, mostly because no one had ever quite been able to duplicate its splendor. It was made from a special glass, immune to scuffs and scratches, slow to wear, and perfectly clear. Beneath the glass was water, filled with colorful plants and fish, diminutive castles and other such decorations. It gave all who traveled across it the impression they were walking on water; that below them was a much smaller, less significant world. "It's something."

Around him the group of men he was with chuckled, all of them well familiar with the famous floor and enjoying the rare sight of a new visitor young enough to show how impressed he was.

Valendel felt his cheeks heat and looked away, casting his gaze across the room as they began to move again, traveling straight down the grand hallway, people stepping aside for them to pass, and on toward the rooms they would be using the length of their stay.

"Here we go," Zon said and keyed in a code faster than Valendel could follow. The door swished open to reveal a salon of sorts, decorated in a rich deep red with black and gold accents. The furniture was all long, twisting and deep, meant to seduce its occupants into never moving again. "Royal Rooms, we call them. I think there's probably a fancier name." He shrugged, fingers drumming restlessly on his thigh, light catching the profusion of metal in his dark skin and hair. "If you need anything, just ring for help. I'm going back to my ship, unless you need anything else from me. The rest of the group is around here somewhere…"

Valendel half-listened to the conversation that continued, smooth Coni accents mingling with the rougher non-accent of Zon, the more modulated accents of the scientist who had traveled with them. He was more interested in what Zon had said - 'the rest of the group is around' - was Dr. Bikendi here? Valendel felt his heart speed up at the thought. To finally meet the man himself. Surely he was dreaming.

Dr. Itzal Bikendi was one of the most respected scientists in the world, famous throughout all four quadrants for his work with genetics, evolution, and a specialty in mutations. Like he was. Notoriously reclusive, somehow High Chancellor Kavalerov had convinced him to leave his private studies and attend the debate over the Draconis.

After terms and terms of work in their different quadrants and planets, the members of the High Chancellor's hand-picked team would be meeting at Zero. They would meet the opposition, those who though the Draconis should be annihilated rather than saved. In a matter of days, the debate would begin.

For terms his part of the team had been railing about the High Chancellor's habit of keeping everything to himself. Only the High Chancellor knew all the members of his team and what precisely they were doing. It wasn't until a week ago that they'd known Dr. Bikendi himself would be here.

He still could not fathom it. Valendel had every book, every article, every paper Dr. Bikendi had ever published. Though he'd never been able to attend the man's lectures, he'd watched them via data screen. He'd even read all the transcriptions, had read every book associated with Dr. Bikendi in anyway. It wasn't just the research, the sheer brilliance of the scientist that drew him…it was the man himself, so afraid of his own power and strangeness that he'd holed up on some obscure moon and forbade anyone to visit. He was brilliant, powerful, and completely different.

Valendel had always quietly sympathized with the 'different.' There was no Draconis like him, and no one knew what his magics were - so far he'd not been able to use them. The theory was that they would be tapped when he matched. But his color and the strangeness of his unusable magics were not in the original coding. He was as much a mutant as it as possible to be.

He was crucial to the argument Pyotr's team had been building. An argument Dr. Bikendi had been helping to build. Which meant he'd get to meet him. Perhaps it was stupid to be excited about something so trivial when the fate of his entire race was at stake…but for as long as he could remember he'd wanted to meet Dr. Bikendi. Ask him all the questions carefully compiled in the data pad that never left his side. Just listen to him speak of all he knew. Stars, he'd be happy if Dr. Bikendi just let him stand close and listen as he talked to everyone else.

Wandering down the hall, too restless to wait for the others, Valendel peeked into each of the open rooms, wondering if anyone would be offended if he just claimed one of them. Each had a single bed, meaning they wouldn't have to share - that was a relief. He stopped at the end of the hall, at the last room, and shoved the door all the way open, stepping inside to more thoroughly explore.

It was as sumptuously decorated as the salon, but instead of red and gold it was done all in a softy, silvery gray and a darker fabric that shifted from blue to violet depending on the angle of light. The few lamps in the room had shades of blue and violet glass, and Valendel felt more strongly than ever that he was dreaming. No doubt in a few minutes he would wake up in his room, shivering because he'd left his window open again, stomach growling because he'd forgotten to eat.

"You must be Valendel," a warm, pleasant voice said from behind him.

Valendel spun around, then smiled and bowed. "You are Lady Jundel. It is an honor to meet you."

Jundel smiled. "You are as exotic and pretty as I have been told, Valendel."

"Please, Val is fine." He ducked his head, feeling the heat in his dark cheeks. 'Exotic and pretty.' He would roll his eyes except he had no desire to be rude to the Lady Jundel, a true star of the Draconis. Even the fact that her son had been convicted of murdering his own father had not dimmed the brightness of the woman who fought harder for the Draconis than anyone.

He was anything but 'exotic and pretty.' He knew what people called him. 'Strange' was usually the nicest epithet. The original coding the for the Draconis matched the lizards that had formed the base, meaning that Draconis color range should have been limited to red, green, yellow, brown, black, blue, orange, and of course albino white. Variations were of course possible, as other species had been drawn from to make the Draconis what they were.

No where, however, should violet have been even remotely possible. It was a color found in precious few species, and none of those had been involved in building the Draconis; not even remotely. Nor could it be blamed on his parents; he was full-blooded Draconis.

It was impossible for him to have pale lavender skin covered by dark lavender scales, dark lavender hair and pale violet eyes. Equally impossible was the fact that he seemed to have dormant magics.

Yet he existed, a strange, unfathomable purple mutant.

"You are kind, Lady Jundel."

Jundel laughed. "There are many who would disagree with you. Have you met everyone?"

"Most of the team, yes I have."

Jundel motioned him forward, her pale green scales glinting in the light. When Val reached her, she looped their arms together as though they were the greatest of friends. "Come and meet the rest then; I can assure you that all are most eager to meet the keystone of our argument. If we save our race, my darling, it will largely be due to you." She patted his arm and smiled warmly. "The times ahead are going to be hard, for many reasons. Never forget how important you are to us, hmm?"

"Yes, Lady," Val replied, feeing overwhelmed by the sudden, solemn words.

"I have heard through the chain that you are quite the student of Dr. Bikendi's work. I believe his ship will be arriving in an hour or so."

Val nodded, feeling hot and incapable of holding still. Dr. Bikendi. An hour. His fingers twitched, wanting to pull his data pad from the thigh pocket of his loose pants, reread all the questions he'd recorded, all his ideas and theories.

Not that such a famous scientist would waste time with a dumb kid, but he could hope…

Jundel's soft chuckles broke into his thoughts and Val cringed. "My apologies."

"None necessary," Jundel said. "You remind me of my son. He loved science, and has immensely enjoyed his contact with so many for the purpose of saving the Draconis. Here we are." She led him back into the luxurious sitting room and situated them on a long sofa, then poured two cups of tea. "Bangkok Dragon Flower," she said, holding out a fragile-looking pale yellow tea cup filled with a dark pink liquid.

Gingerly Val accepted the cup and sipped the dark pink tea. It was surprisingly sweet, feeling almost thick on his tongue.

Jundel smiled. "Quite fine, is it not? I profess a weakness."

Nearby, a man Val didn't recognize chuckled and countered Jundel's fondness, and the debate over tea soon expanded to include the entire room, until the nervous anxiety that had seemed to color everything eased a bit and the group of strangers began to relax.

Then a chime sounded. Jundel set down her tea. "Someone has arrived."

A moment later the main door opened and a gold-scaled Draconis entered the room, followed by one with green scales who was instantly familiar. This was Mendel…which meant the gold-scaled one was Karmikel. Val felt his heart speed up as they approached. Two such notorious Draconis and the Lady Jundel. He felt so insignificant next to such well-known persons. In a room full of famous and highly-respected people.

Stars, he should have stayed in his room.

Somehow he managed to murmur greetings, the two new Draconis as well as the humans and Fornarian that came in behind them…followed by a man he didn't know but who screamed power and caused the rest of the room to fall into a startled silence.

Every last bit of the man said he was well-used to power, wealth, every luxury. He had fair skin and hair the color of dark Jupiter ink, his eyes like precious aquamarines. Handsome to the point he was almost but not quite pretty. He must be in his forties, but Val thought that at two hundred the man would still be handsome.

"Oh, my…" Jundel said softly beside him, her eyes fastened on the stranger as though unable to look away. She stood up and moved toward him. "I have never seen you, my lord, but I know you on sight anyway. They said you had retired to your moon and would never leave it."

The man flashed a smile that was no small part of his fame. "The High Chancellor is persuasive."

Val frowned. "Who are you?" he asked. "I'm sorry if I'm rude."

The man laughed. "There is a question I have never been asked. You are not rude, young man. I prefer directness."

Jundel smiled and beckoned him forward, glaring at the laughs and titters that filled the room at Val's question. "Valendel, may I present to you Tresnor Daie, the greatest lawyer the stars have ever seen."

Val's eyes widened. "Oh." No wonder everyone was laughing at him. Tresnor Daie. The Lord of Bangkok, though he had retired to the moon of Bangkok when his wife died. His sons, known as the Jewels, saw to the active ruling of the infamous planet. "It's an honor to make your acquaintance, my lord."

Tresnor snorted and pulled a cigar case from a hidden pocket of his jacket. His suit was a pure, rich black made of Parthon silk, fine silver pinstripes adding a sharp gleam. A small black jewel gleamed on his left ring finger, its twin in his right ear. "Would anyone take offense if I smoke?"

"Only if you do not share, my lord," Jundel said with a teasing smile.

"Oh?" Tresnor asked, quirking one fine, dark brow in amusement. He held out the case. "By all means, my lady."

Jundel accepted the offer, selecting one of the short, thin, dark-blue cigars.

From just behind Tresnor stepped a short, slender man with dark, silvery hair - truly like silver, shining with a metallic gleam in the light. His eyes were dark blue, skin pale, features sharp. He had a severe, haunting beauty about him, enhanced by his solemn mien. He held a light to the cigar Jundel placed between her lips, then did the same for Tresnor.

"Call me Tresnor, please," he said as he smiled at Jundel. "This is our star Draconis?" he said, motioning with his cigar at Val. "I can see why you cause such a stir." He winked. "If you ever need a place, Bangkok would welcome you."

Valendel stared.

"Leave the poor thing alone, Tresnor," a voice said with dry amusement from behind them. Val really wished he'd just stayed hidden in his room. Now standing before him was the Grand Chancellor Arkadii Kavalerov himself. "You have more than enough pretty things on that planet of yours, stop stealing the few left to the rest of the stars."

Tresnor chuckled but made no reply. "Is that our famed scientist standing behind you?"

"Yes," the Grand Chancellor replied, stepping aside.

Val suddenly found it hard to breathe, staring. Dr. Bikendi. Dark copper skin, pitch black hair touched with white, features striking rather than handsome and eyes-

Pain flashed through his head, flooded his body, turning into a deep, aching burn. As though he'd swallowed flames. It turned almost immediately into a bone-deep chill, and Val found it hard to stand. Hot. Cold.

Then realization flooded him, blending with supreme happiness. Matched. He was matched. To Dr. Bikendi.

"Stars, where is that good for nothing Pyotr," Bikendi snarled, glaring hatefully around the room. "He did this on purpose."

"Did what on purpose?" Jundel asked.

Val froze as dark purple eyes locked with his, bright with rage. What had he done wrong?

"That," Bikendi said, pointing a figure accusingly at Val. "That bastard Pyotr knew good and well I'd match with that Draconis. No wonder I never knew there was a purple Draconis. He said there was a remarkable mutant…I should have known…that conniving bastard. I would have refused to help and he knew it."

"I-I'm sorry," Val said, stepping forward, anxious to do something, anything.

"Get away from me," Bikendi snarled, stepping back, away, the anger in his face growing as he stared at Val. "I want nothing to do with you, and I will not forgive anyone for forcing a match upon me. Stars take you all, I hid on the moon for very good reasons. Now you have quadrupled the problem." He turned sharply to the Grand Chancellor. "I hope your nephew is pleased with himself." Snarling more curses, Bikendi stalked away from the group and from the room.

Val stared after him, fingers going to his precious data pad. He swallowed, blinked rapidly, and fled as quickly as he could from the sympathetic, pitying glances being directed his way.

Back in his room, he quickly locked the door and then sat clumsily down on his bed. Stared at the floor without seeing it. A million times he'd thought about finally matching. What Draconis didn't? A single moment changed their entire lives; a moment over which they had no control. Some changes were good, some bad. In all those imaginings, he'd never once ever dared to dream that he would match with Dr. Bikendi. The man was far beyond such fanciful thoughts.

So happy. For one brief moment he'd been so happy. Matched. To Dr. Bikendi. A secret, impossible dream come true.

Except Dr. Bikendi hated him.

Val buried his face in his pillow and recited formulas until he finally fell asleep.

Chapter Two

Custom Class star Ship 98147892, the Shangri La

"High Chancellor, we should be reaching the light gate in twenty minutes. You have various incoming calls from the Palace."

Pyotr smiled faintly. "Yes. One from uncle, one from Dr. Bikendi, another from Tresnor if he's arrived, and probably one from Lady Jundel, possibly two or three from my poor secretaries. Ignore them, Atelic. I will deal with all of them once we've arrived home."

"Yes, High Chancellor," Atelic said with a brief but elegant bow. "Speaking of all your callers, I did receive a report two and a half minutes ago that all parties have safely arrived."

"That would be why they're all calling me," Pyotr said with a chuckle. "My men protect me from threats; I do wish they'd protect me from my allies occasionally."

Across the room, seated on a dark brown sofa, a wiry man with dark brown hair and goatee, eyes a bit lighter, laughed. "Pyotr, we can only protect you from so much - especially when you do things knowing these allies will want to have your head."

Pyotr gave a brief smile. "They're always pleased in the end."

The man chuckled again and gave up with a lazy hand motion. "So what is your plan upon arrival? Will I need my riot stunner?"

"Perhaps," Pyotr murmured, flicking through messages on one of his data screens, wincing slightly at the colorful one from Dr. Bikendi. "The good doctor is perhaps a trifle put out with me."

"Right. Atelic, have my riot stunners pulled out of storage, would you?"

Atelic rolled his eyes. "Raoul, I am not indulging your weapon fetish." He turned back to Pyotr and sketched another bow. "My Lord, if you've nothing further…"

"Let me know when we're landing so I can don my armor."

Atelic nodded and turned neatly to stride from the room.

On the couch, Raoul grumbled good-naturedly. "I do not have a weapons fetish."

"Just as I am not obsessed with my work," Pyotr replied dryly.

Raoul chuckled and subsided, drumming his fingers idly on his thigh. He was dressed much like Pyotr, in the formal black and silver uniform of the IG, with the markings of the Authorities, but he'd discarded the jacket some time ago. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing the surprisingly tight muscle beneath, completely at odds with his wiry frame. Half-fornarian, Raoul lacked their gray coloring but possessed the deceptively thin build and magics.

He toyed idly with the stunners strapped to each of his thighs, then moved automatically to check the one in a shoulder holster and another at the small of his back. On his right wrist was a bracelet made of simple gold chain, with the infinitum symbol carved from black onyx.

Pyotr laughed softly. "So restless. I am sure there will be something for you to do on Zero."

Raoul grunted. "I am amazed you're listening to the Grand Chancellor this time."

"I am afraid I must concede to his logic," Pyotr said reluctantly. "More than a few officials are displeased with my stance on this matter, and I alone know every element of our argument at present. At least that much will finally change when we reach Zero."

"If Dr. Bikendi doesn't kill you first," Raoul said with a grin. "What did you do to him this time?"

A faint smirk curved Pyotr's mouth. "Matched him."

Raoul's jaw dropped. "Pyotr, how in the stars did you manage to match him of all people. That should be impossible."

"Yes," Pyotr replied calmly. "It should. Once Dr. Bikendi calms down, he will see how vastly important he has just become."

"That man hasn't calmed down since he was born."

Pyotr chuckled, but made no reply.

On his desk, a data screen flashed before the face of Atelic appeared. "My Lord, we're approaching the light gate. ETA currently stands at fifteen minutes."

"Thank you, Atelic," Pyotr said, then slowly began to shut down all his data screens, saving his work and preparing it for transfer to his office on Zero.

Raoul stood and crossed the room in a few long, easy strides, picking up Pyotr's coat from where he'd put it on the back of the chair and helping him into it, smoothing down the soft folds of the formal black and silver uniform. "So, oh brave and stupid High Chancellor, from whom should I be protecting you?"

"My uncle and Dr. Bikendi," Pyotr said dryly. "You have permission to incapacitate them both."

"Oh, I would love to see the face of the Grand Chancellor should I 'incapacitate' him," Raoul said, laughing hard enough to shake. "Sadly, I do not think 'Pyotr told me to' would get me out of trouble." He looked speculatively at Pyotr. "Then again, he probably hears that a lot…"

"Perhaps," Pyotr said idly. "When we arrive, there will be quite a bit of chaos."

"Don't I know it," Raoul muttered. "You'd better be armed with more than that simple stunner, Pyotr."

"No one is going to attack me in the Palace of Eternity," Pyotr said stiffly.

"Yes, they would, but I'm more concerned about the docks."

"I do not think-" The ship rocked violently, cutting his words off, sending Pyotr crashing hard into Raoul, both of them hitting the floor hard. Around them the ship continued to buck and shake."

"What the stars?" Raoul demanded. He pinned Pyotr to the floor, using his magics to stick to it, keeping them from suffering damage as the ship raged out of control.

Pyotr's eyes flashed as his in-lens worked. "Atelic! Atelic! Bridge, answer me!" He snarled when he got no reply. "Let me up, I've got to transmit the emergency codes. What the stars…"

Reluctantly Raoul obeyed, levering himself up and helping Pyotr up, then carefully moving them to the desk. Pyotr called up his screens typing furiously, eyes seeming to glow as his in-lens worked furiously.

"Explosion originated in the main engine rooms. Right as we hit light. I think there's another." Pyotr's expression was grim. "Someone close had to have done this. I think something went wrong though, because I'm not dead yet. Transmitting emergency codes and last coordinates now." He hit a few last keys, then went abruptly still.

"Now what?" Raoul asked, but knew.

Pyotr grimaced. "Now we explo-"

His words were cut off by a blinding flash, then a flare of pain in his head.

Then nothing.

Unknown Planet, Unknown Location

Raoul sat up with a groan, then held a trembling hand to his aching head. A second later he pulled his hand away and stared in confusion that it was red and wet. He blinked hard, forcing his mind to overcome the pain, to focus, to think.

Blood. His head was injured. Probably not too badly if he was conscious, if only just.

Where was he?

Why was he here? He should be on a ship…

Ah.

He swore as everything came flooding back.

An explosion. The bomb had gone off right as they'd hit the light gate, or so Pyotr had surmised. Something had gone wrong, though, because it hadn't killed them instantly. Probably why the bastards had placed a second; messing around with light gates was always a highly tricky business.

So he wasn't dead. Which meant he could be anywhere.

Thinking that did nothing for his headache.

Fuck.

Groaning in pain and frustration, Raoul reached out for something to hold onto. His hand landed on what felt like a tree, and he absently realized he was damned lucky to have been dumped on a planet with air he could breathe.

Stars he hoped he hadn't fallen into a bad vid and wound up on an underdeveloped planet.

Heaving himself to his feet, Raoul immediately regretted it. He swayed heavily on his feet and then fell back down hard on the ground. Great, first a sore head and now a bruised ass. Snorting at himself, he gave up standing for the time being and finally took a real look at his surroundings.

Lots of green stuff. Stars, please let him not be on a primitive planet. He would cheerfully kill for even a Soul dealer right now. A Vrill in a full snit. Anything to prove he was not going to be making fires with sticks or whatever the hell primitive planets did.

He looked at the bracelet still on his wrist, hoping and praying that the tracking device inside still worked. That reminded him he might still have his stunners, and a slow, painful check requiring entirely too much moving turned up three of his four stunners - and all of them working.

That would teach the bastards back home to make fun of his 'expensive, pointless, and showy' upgrades. Petting his main stunner fondly, Raoul stowed it and took another look around - this time for any sign that he wasn't the only one of the crew to have crashed here.

Except it seemed he was.

Raoul wholly resented whoever was behind this for not being smart enough to get it right and leave him stranded on some unknown planet with the worst headache in the IG. When he figured out who the bastards were, he would be teaching them all new levels of pain.

Gingerly he held a hand up to his head, hissing as that caused the pain to flare up, bright and sharp and dizzying, enough he almost vomited. Okay, no more touching the head wound.

No sign of other crewmen, not from this vantage point anyway. Stars, if anyone else had landed here let it be Pyotr…

Raoul had the sinking feeling he was the only one to have crashed here…wherever here was. Time to find out, vomit-inducing pain or not. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of the tree he'd used before and slowly, bit by bit, pulled himself up.

He stood still, taking several deep breaths, making sure the world was holding still before he finally tried to take a step.

When he didn't immediately pass out - though he'd sort of been hoping - he tried another. Several steps later, he wished more than ever that he could just pass out, but fear and training kept him persevering.

Not that he had any idea where he was going. He hadn't exactly been prepared for a Hike Through Primitive Forest. No, his itinerary had been 'save Pyotr from his own machinations'. Which, when he thought about it, was infinitely harder than trekking through a strange forest with a head wound.

He stopped abruptly as he came around a particularly large tree.

A path.

Raoul almost cried. Signs of life. Stars, something was better than nothing.

He stubbornly ignored all the doubts and fears and problems that tried to assault him and after a moment followed the path in what he judged to be a northerly direction to judge by the angle of the light. North good, right?

As he continued walking - stumbling, really - the path widened out, smoothed, eventually bleeding into another that showed the deep ruts of frequent use by wagons. He really hoped that was just what they preferred because they were cheaper and required less high-tech maintenance.

Groaning, almost sobbing, wanting nothing more than for the pain to go away for just a few minutes so he could think more clearly, Raoul pushed on. He almost gave up when he realized he'd have to climb a hill, but damn it he'd protected one of the most powerful men in the stars for nearly two decades. He'd just survived not one but two explosions set off mid-light jump. One stupid hill was not going to defeat him.

Still, it was a near thing.

Cresting the hill, Raoul stared at the people below. Human, he thought. At least in appearance. Almost a golden tone to their skin. They were dressed simply, like…farmers or something equally primitive and picturesque. Raoul felt his heart drop into his stomach. Had he really landed on a primitive planet?

Then the largest of the three men pulled a stunner out and aimed it at his head.

Raoul laughed in delight and held his hands up in a show of surrender - and promptly passed out.

Unknown Planet, Unknown location

Cold.

All he felt was cold. The sort of deep, chilling freeze he had not felt since he'd been a child.

Pyotr moaned softly, barely able to feel the heavy flakes of snow clinging to his face.

Where…

So tired…

He tried to make his mind work, but the cold sapped everything.

Winter…

Though he tried to stay conscious, knowing somehow that it was crucial to staying alive, Pyotr could not muster the strength. He slipped back into the darkness, vaguely grateful to escape the terrible cold.

Warmth.

Pyotr slowly opened his eyes, seeing nothing but snow all around him.

Everywhere. A world of white. He shuddered as it brought back memories long buried, though never forgotten.

Tredad. Could it be? How?

Something touched his face. Hot. He tried to jerk away but realized he couldn't move.

Soft sounds. Someone speaking?

Groaning low, Pyotr forced his head to turn, but could see nothing but hair. Long, dark-gold hair bound in a braid.

Hot fingers touched his face again, and Pyotr moaned. "What…" the word seemed to take hours to say.

"Quiet. Even half frozen you can't hold still."

Pyotr shivered, but he didn't think it was because of the cold this time. Why, then? His thoughts wouldn't work. "Cold."

A hot hand lay on his forehead. "I would imagine so," the voice said dryly. "One would think, 'Winter,' that you would be tougher than this in the snow."

Pyotr went stiff, knowing something was strange about what the voice had just said. Moving with painful slowness, he forced his head to move again, eyes following up the length of the braid…

To see a face covered against the biting cold. Nothing but a hint of eyes staring back at him, and suddenly he knew why the voice was hard to understand. "Who…"

The man laughed. "Indeed. I should leave you here." But even as he spoke, the man stood and moved out of Pyotr's sight.

Despite himself, he drifted off to sleep again.

When he woke again, Pyotr could think. He could move.

He sat up slowly and looked around the sparse room in which he lay. One giant cabin, with the bed in one corner, the kitchen in the other, a sitting area in the center…

Pyotr froze as he realized he knew the layout. The special materials used to fight against the terrible, unending winter…of Tredad.

He was on Tredad.

Everything came rushing back to him then. Something had gone wrong with the assassination attempt. Instead of killing him, it had tossed him wildly about and dumped him on Tredad.

By all rights that should have been enough to kill him. Precious few planets in the IG were as cold as Tredad, and none of them suffered the unending winter for which Tredad was famous. Only the life which thrived belowground made it possible for anything to inhabit the planet.

He would have to get in contact with Zero somehow…a glance around the room showed none of his equipment, and it would not have survived both the tossing about space and a crash landing in Tredad anyway.

At least someone had rescued him. Given how rarely anyone ventured topside if they did not have to…it was nothing short of miraculous that he was alive.

With that came the realization that he was lying in the bed of a stranger completely naked. Not there would have been any choice, his clothes would have been soaked through, but Pyotr hated to think he'd be greeting his rescuer completely nude.

Even as he thought about it, the door in the floor swung up and a man hopped up with the practiced ease of someone who'd lived the unusual Tredad lifestyle for some time.

Pyotr felt his breath catch in his chest as the man shucked off his protective gear.

Long, gold brown hair and fine skin. A face and body that could only ever be described as beautiful…or perhaps bewitching, for that was always how he'd felt around this man. Amber eyes, sharp and piercing, met his coolly. "You're awake."

Pyotr could only stare, unable to believe what he was seeing. "Jade."

 

Chapter Three

Planet 0000000 (Zero), The Palace of Eternity

Val sat huddled in his seat, arms wrapped around his legs so no one could see him trembling.

The High Chancellor…assassinated…he buried his face in his arms. Why would anyone want to kill the High Chancellor? Val had met the man briefly, a few times before…he'd always seemed nice, if…somehow distant.

He listened to the others talking, noting the tight expressions, the pallor of their faces…

The entire room was devastated.

Dead.

Pyotr Kavalerov was dead.

Opposite him, surrounded by half a dozen officials, looking three times his age, Arkadii Kavalerov wearily dealt with all the problems that had come crashing down upon him. Val let the words wash over him, not interested in comprehending them, too consumed by his own miserable thoughts.

He dared a peek at the far side of the room, where Dr. Bikendi was speaking tersely with Tresnor, Mendel, and Jundel. A sharp pang made his chest ache; Dr. Bikendi studiously ignored him whenever they were in the same room.

Tearing his eyes away, Val fumbled in his pants for his data pad and thumbed it on, in-lens flashing as it transmitted his access codes. He looked over his meticulous questions, hoping trying to puzzle out the answer for himself would distract him, but after a minute he gave up.

What would they do now? The High Chancellor was the one behind the entire defense of the Draconis. It was highly offending most of the IG that such a high official would show such partiality - and so blatantly.

Even Tresnor looked tense, hands moving, cigar smoke making abstract images in the air.

The entire room stopped as a data screen flickered to life over the sitting area where Val and the Grand Chancellor sat. On the screen was what Val immediately realized was a gremlin. Pale green skin, long ears, unkempt black hair, and Val thought he might be of a more slender build but underneath the…well-worn thing he was wearing, it was hard to tell.

And violet eyes. Bright violet, currently filled with what was unmistakably rage.

"Lord Uncle," the gremlin said furiously. "What sort of stars-damned morons did you have working on the Shangri-la?! After all the improvements I made to Pyotr's ship, what useless incompetent let it get staffed with brainless idiots?"

"Tau Ceti," Arkadii said tiredly. "Did he contact you as well, then?"

"Of course he did! Somebody has to find him, and it's not like anyone there has enough brainpower to do it."

A startled silence fell, then Arkadii slowly spoke. "Find? Pyotr is dead."

Tau Ceti looked at him contemptuously. "No, he's not. I made the modifications to that ship myself. The information Pyotr transmitted and a simple recreation of the scenario makes it obvious that he was merely temporarily misplaced, not killed. Whoever got the bright idea to try to blow him up was incredibly stupid about it."

"Petya is alive?"

Tau snorted, mouth twisted in disdain. "Yes, and now I need to go find him. I suppose you should be capable of finding out who's responsible. If not, I'll do it when I get back." Just as abruptly as the data screen had flicked on, it shut off, leaving the room once more in a stunned silence.

"I see the stories of him are not exaggerated," Dr. Bikendi said blandly. "Somehow I expected the infamous Tau Ceti to look a bit…"

"Cleaner?" Arkadii asked dryly. "Oddly enough, I think his manners have improved since last I spoke to him." He abruptly stood. "If you will excuse me." Not waiting for a reply, the Grand Chancellor strode from the room.

Val frowned after him, and looked up as Jundel came to stand next to his chair. "Is he okay?"

Jundel smiled at him. "He thought his nephew dead and now has learned from a…reliable if eccentric source…that the High Chancellor is very much alive. I'd imagine he is more than fine."

Nodding, Val finally felt his own tension ease a bit. The High Chancellor wasn't dead… "So what do we do now?"

"Wait," Tresnor said, taking the seat vacated by the Grand Chancellor. "Though really we cannot do that either. The preliminary hearings start in just three more days, and putting them off will not look good for our side. So we will have to press on as best we can until that peculiar gremlin can find the High Chancellor."

Val nodded, and continued to listen absently as the adults continued to talk and debate, wishing he could better help in some way. All he knew was science, however, not how to turn it into a legal or political argument - things at which Jundel and Tresnor clearly excelled.

Feeling more out of place than ever, Val uncurled from his seat and dug out his data pad, flipping through it for some of the new articles he'd downloaded but hadn't gotten around to reading yet - and crashed hard into something that let out an all-too familiar snarl.

"S-s-sorry," Val said, scrambling to his feet and bowing low to Dr. Bikendi. "I should have been watching where I was going."

"Yes, you should have."

Val flushed and ducked his head. "I'm sorry," he repeated, staring hard at the carpet, painfully aware of the new silence which had fallen.

"Give the boy a break," Jundel said sharply, and Val could hear the swish of her skirts as she crossed the room. "He's done nothing wrong, unless you think he is wholly to blame for being born."

Dr. Bikendi made a scoffing noise. "I don't care what he does, so long as he stays away from me."

"Yes," Jundel said, and Val shivered to hear the frost that suddenly entered her tone. "Stay away from you. That's such a fine idea, why ever did I not think that the best thing for him to do would be to stay away from the only person that could fully explain his new magics? Especially given that so far his magics have always been dormant. Yes, quite a brilliant idea, Doctor. When he gets angry and touches someone, what then? Will you still want him to stay away from you?"

Silence fell again, thick and oppressive. "This would not be a problem if that damnable Kavalerov had not played his manipulative games with me! I should never have left my moon."

"Perhaps not," Jundel said curtly. "I for one cannot see how we benefit from your presence. Do not, however, blame Val. I will not tolerate it. Now teach him about his magics before he accidentally hurts someone."

Val's head jerked up. "Hurt someone? I would never!"

"You know nothing about it, boy," Dr. Bikendi said. He heaved a great sigh. "I guess you had best come with me. Stars, when I get my hands on Kavalerov…" He turned sharply on his heel and stalked toward the door - then stopped halfway, turning back around. "Are you coming or not, boy? I have not got all day."

"Uh-yes, sir!" Val said, shaking himself, clutching his data pad tightly as he bolted after Dr. Bikendi. His heart felt near to beating out of his chest as he followed the doctor from the room.

Outside he trailed just behind Dr. Bikendi, clutching his data pad close and wondering if he should say or do something. In the end though, he could only follow and try to keep up with the doctor's long strides. A million colorful distractions beckoned him beyond the two-way mirrors that formed the top half of the walls of the private hallways. Val was oblivious to them all, his eyes only for the man in front of him.

Bikendi was…Val guessed most people would say strange, but he preferred the term 'exotic'. People loved to talk about how stunningly brilliant and accomplished Bikendi was for only being 29. He was a strange combination of shades - skin dark copper, short hair black touched with streaks of white, dark purple eyes, and dressed so simply in brown slacks and a black t-shirt.

An eternity later they finally stopped moving, though Val knew it couldn't have been more than five minutes. They entered a lab that made him want to grin like the schoolboy he'd only just stopped being and dash around to look at everything. It was state of the art; even the labs he'd grown up around on Coni could not compare to this.

No doubt having the High Chancellor as a friend and leader of the defense team helped with that.

Val couldn't help himself. He absently set his data pad down on a nearby lab table and then began to wander, poking at every machine and piece of equipment, muttering softly and occasionally exclaiming in delight.

"I did not give you leave to go tearing about my lab," Dr. Bikendi cut in, voice like frost.

Halting in his tracks, fingers guilty frozen in the process of reaching out to touch the latest model of a GX3 Separator, Val dropped his hand and turned to face Dr. Bikendi, knowing his cheeks were flushed dark. He struggled for one of the fancy phrases the officials back home had tried to drill into him, but in the end all he could manage was a timid "I'm sorry." He drew a breath and kept talking, half to hide his embarrassment and half because he hated the awful silences where Dr. Bikendi just glared and glared. "It's just I've never seen a lab like this, all the equipment! I only ever read about the GX3 and the Rentol microscopes but isn't that your-"

"That is quite enough," Dr. Bikendi said.

Val fell silent and stared miserably at the bright white tiles of the floor.

"So you had no idea you would match with me?"

"None!" Val said, looking up anxiously. "I never had magics before - I still don't, actually. No one could ever explain my coloring. For years they've tried to figure me out. It was finally decided I must be a strange, nonmagics mutant." His shoulders tensed, thinking of those days. The looks. The whispers. "It was the High Chancellor who said otherwise, and insisted that I had a place in the defense team."

Dr. Bikendi grunted and motioned for him to sit. "So I guess you know nothing about what I am."

"No, sir," Val said, dropping his gaze beneath the cold intensity of Bikendi's gaze. "Nothing at all."

"I am a combination of Telven and Kemperast."

Val jerked his head up and stared wide-eyed. "How would…" Stars. Telven…they were part of the IG, but only because the IG was too scared not to let them join. Even meeting the inhabitants of the planet had been pure accident - misfortune. That race…every horror story come to life. Monsters, most called them. Blood sucking monsters…

Kemperast…any geneticist worth being called thus knew that race. A species that could transform 'normal' energy into 'magics' energy. It was from their gene structure that the infamous and now extinct Temperast had been constructed.

"I can see by your expression that you recognize both species," Dr. Bikendi said, and Val eased just the slightest bit to hear the begrudging approval in his voice. "I am essentially what they wanted in the Temperast, but could never quite figure out." A faint grimace on his face, Dr. Bikendi walked over to a table on which were stacked various cages, filled with creatures approved for scientific experiments. He reached out and touched a dark red lizard.

Val's eyes widened as the creature shuddered and died right before his eyes. "What…"

"The strange cross of Telven and Kemperast has resulted in a unique ability to absorb energy from any magics-capable being and convert it to whatever I need - 'normal' energy or 'magics' energy. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Val said softly. It made Dr. Bikendi…stars, to be able to absorb and convert energy to whatever was necessary. There was no need for healing magics or offensive magics - Dr. Bikendi could make the raw energy absorbed do whatever he wanted…probably within limits, of course, but still. Val looked at the dead lizard again. "Does it always…"

"Kill?" Dr. Bikendi asked flatly. "Yes. The shock of the absorption almost instantly kills the victim - just as the Telven always leave their prey dead."

Val felt cold, thinking what an entire race of Dr. Bikendi's could do. To benefit by killing someone…by killing them with only a touch… "What if the victim has more energy than you can absorb?"

Dr. Bikendi glared at him. "They die anyway. As I said, it is the shock that kills. Perhaps a stronger being might survive, but it is not a line of experimentation I have ever followed."

"Yes, of course," Val said, ducking his head again. "I did not mean to imply…" He kept his eyes on the table. "So I can do that now, too?"

"I don't see why not," Dr. Bikendi replied. "Though it is truly a puzzle that your magics have been dormant this entire time, never mind the sheer impossibility of matching with me…how could that bastard have known…"

Val cringed as he heard the sharp rap of boots on tile as Dr. Bikendi strode over to his table, then warm, smooth fingers landed on his chin and forced his head up. "The eyes, I suppose. Very few species have violet eye coloring. Less than a dozen, and of those…I guess for him it must have been quite simple indeed. The bastard, wait until I get hold of him." Dr. Bikendi let go and stalked around his lab muttering.

Restless, not sure what to do, Val sat and waited for Dr. Bikendi to give him some indication. Would it be alright to ask more questions? "So how do I control it?"

"Don't touch living things with magics," Dr. Bikendi said sharply. "That's the easiest way. Otherwise, never touch in anger or unhappiness. Never when you're tired or hungry. Always keep your energy up by normal means. I should have addressed this sooner, I will concede that point." He made a face. "I guess there is no one to teach you but me."

Val couldn't help the excitement that fluttered in his chest. "I promise I shall not get in your way. Did you want-"

"Get used to not touching much of anything magics capable," Dr. Bikendi cut in. "Though it must be your hands, that is where the absorption occurs. Thankfully it's not skin contact only."

Val swallowed, sick to think he could have killed someone and no one had told him. Why? His hands balled into fists on the table. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Shock, I suppose," Dr. Bikendi said. "Perhaps Kavalerov knows something I do not, if he was willing to risk our meeting. Though how that bastard would know more about me and my magics than me I should very much like to know."

He fell silent and Val waited for him to start speaking again.

Dr. Bikendi sighed. "I do not have time to teach someone these things, not with the trial pending, but I suppose there is little choice."

An idea flashed through Val's mind, and he wondered - Dr. Bikendi would say no, likely, but he already hated Val so what did it hurt to ask, really? "I could help you," he said, speaking in a rush. "In repayment for the lessons, and in apology. I know all your studies, I've kept abreast of everything, even the stuff I could learn of the Draconis case. I know the importance of keeping it quiet and-"

"Enough," Dr. Bikendi said. He stared hard at Val, then gave another long sigh. "Fine," he said begrudgingly. "I suppose I have little choice in the matter, as I am already pressed for time and having a match forced upon me helps nothing. But you will do exactly as I say, when I say, without argument or question. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Val said, trying to keep his excitement contained, to act calm and professional.

Dr. Bikendi grunted. "I guess we need to test your knowledge, as you are of no use to me unless you know how to use everything in this lab and can learn to take notes as I do. You said you were familiar with my work? How is that?"

"I studied genetics and related fields in school," Val said, cheeks burning as he thought of all that his data pad contained, how utterly stupid it would probably look to Dr. Bikendi to see just how avidly Val had always followed his work.

Still…if he behaved and worked hard enough and didn't do something wrong…maybe he could start to ask some of his questions.

He was going to work with Dr. Bikendi!

Trying to go slowly despite nervousness making him rush, Val related his schooling and experience.

Dr. Bikendi nodded when he'd finished. "Your name is Valendel?"

"Yes, but everyone calls me Val."

"Bikendi. 'Itzal' I'm not terribly fond of, and there is no need for constant formality. I have better things to do with my time than make certain everyone is tacking 'doctor' to the front of my name. Now - you claim to know your way around a lab, and seemed to earlier. Tell me everything you know about each piece of equipment in this room. Then we will see what else you know. If you mess up once, I will kick you out and administer your lessons elsewhere. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Val said quickly, then obediently launched into proving that he knew what he was doing, struggling not to do something stupid like cheer for sheer joy or hug Bikendi in gratitude.

Chapter Four

Unknown Planet, Unknown Location

Raoul woke with a groan and wished he hadn't.

Stars, when he found the bastard who'd let him drink that much…

Even as he thought it, he knew that wasn't right. He hadn't been drinking. Hadn't drunk anything in terms, not since he'd started working for Pyotr - even when the bastard made the idea of getting drunk awfully tempting. Pyotr was more a friend and brother than employer and High Chancellor…

And his head must still be concussed if his thoughts were wandering, which meant he'd regained consciousness entirely too soon for his liking.

Giving up any hope of going back to sleep, Raoul opened his eyes and tried to sit up. Two things immediately came to his attention.

One, he was tied up.

Two, his bracelet was gone.

Both were rather problematic. The bracelet was the only way anyone would have been able to locate him. Granted, after the explosion and landing its chances of working were slim - but at least he'd had it.

Being tied up was annoying in general and given he'd been unconscious and therefore incapable of causing trouble - uncalled for.

Unless they had reason to fear him…

Raoul groaned and wondered what precisely he might have crash landed in the middle of. Hopefully just paranoid farmers worried about their crops. Yes, that was a happy thought. He was good at talking to nice if somewhat paranoid people. Came with the job description.

He really hoped the nice, paranoid people had some meds for his head.

With some effort and no small bit of nausea, Raoul managed to wriggle and twist his way into a sitting position, getting his back against the side of an old wooden shed that smelled like it hadn't been used for ages and that something might possibly have died in it shortly before usage stopped - which probably would explain why it wasn't used.

Maybe this was where all crash landings went. Hmm. Unhappy thought.

Raoul forced himself to focus. He needed to contact Zero. Pyotr…stars he hoped Pyotr had survived. Chances were good, of course. Stars, the bastard might even be on the same plant…but light gates were unpredictable. Especially when you blew up in the middle of one.

He hoped the nice, paranoid people had food, too - his stomach was protesting such thoughts, but he knew it would help.

Weak sunlight filtered through the cracks of the shed, meaning he was in a spot that got sunlight but that it was partially blocked - probably trees or something.

The door would be easy enough to break open, unless there was some unseen complication. In which case he could break down the walls. They were old, weak, and his head had already proven itself to be hard enough for the task.

Sighing, Raoul wondered if he had any chance of falling back asleep. He was seriously getting sick of himself.

Shuffling.

Raoul looked up at the sound of voices, then feet moving closer, the faint chimes as a lock - so the door was more secure than it looked from this side - was deactivated, and then the door swung open.

He almost whistled in appreciation.

A Vrill. A real, true, full-blooded, high-class Vrill. Sunlight poured in behind him, lighting up the dingy shed, showing to full splendor the man before him.

All Vrill were by nature slender; the only ones not were the half-breeds. Not as boney as his own half-fornarian build, but definitely slender and delicate. Beautiful. Palest green skin, hair the exact opposite - dark and rich, like leaves in a setting sun, falling just to his shoulders, small braids here and there woven with pale yellow ribbons. He wore simple but quality clothing that showed precisely how fine that slender frame was. A small amber stud was in each ear, a bracelet of the same around one wrist. Long, slender fingers, an elegant, lovely face, the green eyes just slightly lighter than the hair. Androgynous save for the notably masculine chest and what the tight pants revealed.

The Vrill drew close and knelt in the dirt. "You're finally awake, I see. How are you feeling?"

Even the voice was perfectly lovely. Even finer than the snap of a well-made stunner hitting its target. "Like I crash landed on an unknown planet head first," Raoul replied.

"I see," the Vrill replied with a chuckle. "What's a half-fornarian doing in IG dress and wearing a tracking bracelet of a caliber most of the IG doesn't know exists?"

Raoul grinned. "I was going to a costume party."

The Vrill rolled his eyes, but before he could speak someone else approached, deactivating the lock quickly and stepping inside.

This one was entirely human, likely first quad with that fair skin, the gold-blonde color of his hair. He was as wide and tall and muscled as Raoul and the Vrill were skinny. "Yevi, what do we know?"

Yevi rolled his eyes. "He's conscious and a smartass. I can't learn much in thirty seconds. Give me some time, how about?"

The man snorted. "Hurry it up, pretty boy. We don't have all day."

"Then send someone else to figure out what he's doing here," Yevi snapped. "I certainly don't feel like babysitting IG trash. Or better yet, Corin, do it yourself! This isn't in my job description."

Corin motioned impatiently. "Your job description is whatever I feel like. Anyway, Tezi is too busy and the others couldn't get answers out of a drunk and horny Fornarian."

"I resent that," Raoul said, just because he felt he should probably defend his mother's race even if it was probably true there was nothing easier to get anything from than a drunk and horny Fornarian. Both those factors had contributed to his own conception, after all.

"Shut up," Corin said. "Yevi, get what you can and then report to field nine. Do it quickly."

"I know I need to do it quickly," Yevi snapped. "Try to tell me how to do my job again and I'll gut you, Corin."

In reply, Corin only laughed.

Raoul barely noticed, mind racing.

They were keeping him locked up. Obviously working in the fields. Secretive and tetchy.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Somehow he just knew he'd landed in the middle of a soul farm. Damn it.

With a hot but snippy Vrill.

After he got out of this mess and found Pyotr, he was going to kill the man. Slowly.

"You're IA aren't you?" the Vrill asked quietly, the tone of his voice solemn but with an urgent edge.

Raoul went still. Shit. He'd be lucky if they didn't just kill him, if they'd figured that out. Why wasn't he dead?

"My name is Yevi Lirio," Yevi said, voice still barely audible. "I'm with Top Ops, Division Black."

Fuck. Raoul jerked his head up to stare in shock, knowing his jaw was hanging open but not much caring. Top Ops, Auth slang for their highest ranking members, those who did special field work rather than donning a uniform and soldiering the stars - this was an Auth as elite as any IA agent. Also slightly illegal as technically magics capable couldn't work for the IG in such positions as the Authorities. Division Black was Auth slang for those who did deep undercover work. "A Vrill?"

"Shut up," Yevi snapped.

Raoul nodded. "Soul?" he asked.

"Yes," Yevi replied. "I've been here just over a term, trying to figure out who runs it. Suspect this might be an IA problem but I don't know for certain. You're IA. Who and what?"

Ordinarily Raoul would be highly suspicious that he'd just happened to land in a soul operation that boasted an undercover Auth - but even the best criminal wouldn't know the lingo as easily as Yevi did and a turned agent would have no reason to act like he was a legit Auth. If that were the case, it would make more sense just to kill Raoul.

"Raoul, and I'm a private bodyguard to the High Chancellor. His ship was blown up mid light jump. Don't know how the stars I ended up here."

Yevi frowned. "It would depend on a high number of variables, more than I have time to relate. We need a reason to keep you alive and I'm not thinking of any."

"There is none," Raoul said flatly. "My bracelet is gone and it was the only means anyone would have had of finding me. I doubt the chems in my blood are still any good."

"I can fix your bracelet, I think. I took it before they saw it." He shook his head "The last thing I need is IG coming to your rescue though - I'm damn close to finding the ringleader, I think." Yevi bit his lip, and if Raoul were less close to being seriously stressed out, he'd offer to do the biting himself. "I can't let you die, though."

"Many an Auth and IA would consider the sacrifice worth it," Raoul pointed out. "I wouldn't hold a grudge." Though he would be sort of pissed.

Still, he was right and knew it. Many an IG official of any sort would consider the loss of one smart ass bodyguard well worth the chance to break up a major soul ring - and it must be major indeed, for the Auths to send a Top Op into at least a term's worth of Division Black work.

Soul was the bane of the IG. The plant from which it derived could be adapted to grow in nearly any environment, converting the sap was time consuming but easy, and its resemblance to glass and other such substances made it all too easy to transport.

It was sold by the 'pane' to dealers, who in turn shattered the panes and sold the shattered soul by weight. A few crushed it into powder, though not many - soul was most potent in its 'glass' form. The drug made enough of a profit the IG despaired of ever stamping it out completely. It was simply too damn profitable and pleasurable.

Also dangerously addictive. Discovered terms and terms ago by a group of zealots who refined the stuff from a plant native to Vrill but adapted well to other places, where it further mutated into the Falling Star flower more commonly known and now banned throughout the IG. Once the religious zealots had gotten hold of it - that was it.

It had spread far beyond one happy little group determined to prove the existence of one being who controlled all the stars, but they were the reason for its existence - the drug 'opened the mind and let one see all the way down to his very soul.'

Raoul really wished someone would give him something for his headache. Something not soul.

"I'm not letting them kill you," Yevi snapped. "You're a comrade, it wouldn't be right."

A Vrill with both a talent for deception and ethics. Well, the race was as contrary as it was pretty. "I don't see how you can keep me alive," Raoul replied, fighting amusement at the entire situation.

Blown up by enemies no doubt within the IG, probably over the Draconis issue, crash-landed into the middle of a soul operation where the processor was an undercover Auth of the highest caliber - and damned pretty to top it all off.

"I'm not letting them kill you," Yevi repeated stubbornly.

"Beautiful, there is no good reason to keep me alive." Raoul shook his head. "Not that I want to be dead, but they've no reason to keep me alive and you've every reason to let them kill me if it means not blowing up your entire operation."

Yevi started to reply, but an angry snarl came from the far side of the door and a moment later Corin stomped into the shed, face red with anger. He kicked Raoul hard in the chest.

Fighting the urge to puke up his empty stomach, really wanting it to stay right where it was, Raoul looked up. "Fuck, man, I didn't do it. I've been here the whole time, I swear it."

Corin snarled and started to kick him again, but was blocked by Yevi who moved to stand between them. "You, shut up," he snapped at Raoul before turning to Corin. "What's wrong?"

"His fucking stunner," Corin said, the words exploding from him. "It just killed two of our men."

Raoul snorted. "Next time they should deactivate both safeties before playing with my toys." Actually the stunner in question, likely his VT9.10 from the sounds of it, had three safeties and one of those required his touch - but they didn't need to know that. "I custom make those things, man. Nobody fucking touches them but me."

Corin narrowed his eyes. "A hardware man, huh?"

"It gets me in trouble from time to time, but yeah. Better that the pathetic regulation types." He grinned. "I have lots of fun off duty." That he hadn't been off duty for about two and a half terms was entirely beside the point. That his idea of fun had nothing to do with killing things was also not relevant.

Corin's face said he was thinking exactly what Raoul wanted him to think. "What else can you work with?"

"Pretty much anything," Raoul said. "I'm no gremlin, but even they have admired my stunner work upon occasion. If it's machinery, I haven't yet embarrassed myself." That and he also knew what sort of things were involved with soul harvesting and processing. He'd done a few raids himself before being shoved into IA work - he was too good for Top Ops.

That or too troublesome. He'd never really figured out which. Probably troublesome.

He really wanted something for his head.

"Get him out in the field," Corin said. "If his little toys killed my workers, then he can make up for it. I hope you've got more muscle than it looks, Fornarian. You've got a long, hard life in front of you now."

"Half Fornarian, thanks," Raoul said, but Corin was already gone.

Yevi rolled his eyes. "I guess that solves that problem." He looked at Raoul. "You can also watch the nicknames. My name is Yevi, that's it."

Raoul grinned. "Sure, pretty boy. Whatever you want."

"Did you crash land or did they just get fed up with you?"

"Oh, I can't even begin to compete with the High Chancellor in the troublemaking arena. They were trying to blow him up, not me. I think I should be dead. Somehow I keep managing to stay alive."

Yevi grimaced. "How very fortunate." He swiftly undid the robes binding Raoul, tossing them aside.

"Isn't it, though?" Raoul said, still grinning. "So where do I, uh, go from here, gorgeous?"

"The name is Yevi, and if you don't start using it I will give you much worse than that concussion to deal with - I also won't give you painkillers."

Raoul winced. Damn. A resounding defeat. "All right, Yevi. Painkillers, please? Pretty please?"

Yevi dug into an inner pocket of the lightweight, dark blue jacket he wore then held out a small white tab. He was silent as Raoul took the tab and swallowed it, but smirked as they both stood up. "You're rather pretty yourself when you beg, Fornarian."

"Half Fornarian. I am not a rock climbing xenophobe with problems committing, thanks." He reached out as Yevi turned away and took a quick grope of the man's very appealing ass. "And I'll beg anytime you like, pretty boy, just say the word."

He barely ducked the punch Yevi abruptly threw at him, bolting from the shed even though the world tilted dangerously.

So he was stuck on a soul farm until they could bust the ringleader and he was going to be doing hard labor and mechanics works for that indeterminate period of time.

Damn it, if the only compensation he was getting was to flirt with a hot, feisty Vrill - he was going to do it.

Chapter Five

Planet 2154014 (Tredad), Settlement Four

His eyelids felt as though they were made of lead, but Pyotr forced them open, staring at the ceiling until he was relatively certain he could sit up.

When he did not feel dizzy or nauseous, he breathed a sigh of relief and looked around the room.

Still the same.

The plain light brown walls, the heated floor, the simple furnishings…

He truly was on Tredad. How he'd ended up here was a tangle of calculations that would probably even give Tau Ceti a headache.

So…was the rest of what he sort of remembered true?

Jade. Pyotr bit his lip, thinking hard. He'd still been groggy, not even remotely recovered from his time in the freezing cold. It was nothing short of astonishing that he'd survived not only an explosion mid jump but also the harsh climate of Tredad. So his memories were to be doubted…

He remembered seeing Jade…then his rescuer had drugged him that he might sleep and heal properly. This was the first time Pyotr could recall being fully cognizant, which must mean he was more or less recovered.

Which meant he needed to get home. He reached automatically for the bracelet on his wrist, not surprised to find it gone. He was naked, after all. By this point the chems in his blood would also be gone, and his in-lens of course would never have survived so much chaos. Until he could access some form of comm, he was effectively shut off.

Pyotr looked around the cabin again, but there was no sign of any sort of communications equipment anywhere - not even an in-lens that might connect to unseen equipment. He sighed and wondered when his rescuer would come back.

It was strange, actually, that his rescuer had not already contacted the proper authorities. Not that he assumed everyone would immediately recognize him, but he'd been wearing an IG uniform. That alone should have driven someone to contact the IG.

Hopefully word of the assassination was being kept quiet. The very last thing the IG and the Draconis needed right now was for the news of an assassination attempt to spread through the stars.

Except…they likely thought it a successful attempt. His jaw tightened. This had to do with the Draconis. There was any number of reasons people might want him dead, but something told him this had to do with the Draconis.

Restless, tired of being naked in bed, Pyotr threw back the covers and looked around the little sleeping area for either his clothes or something which he could wear. In Tredad homes, only the great manors had multiple rooms. Most were like this - one large room with a heated floor and a stove in the center for additional heat. For larger families, things were portioned off, occasionally one or two separate rooms might be added…but if a household had three persons or less, they were like this.

He found what he needed folded neatly on top of a trunk at the foot of the bed - his uniform, stiff but clean and even repaired where it had been torn, but also other clothes that seemed large enough to fit him. He started to pick up his uniform…but at the last strayed to the far more comfortable Tredad garments.

The pants were dark blue, loose, comfortable, and warm. Next he tugged on a shirt made of the same material - much like the cotton exported by Mars, but softer and much warmer. It was dyed a lighter shade of blue than the pants. A couple more minutes of searching turned up socks and Pyotr considered himself satisfactorily dressed under the circumstances.

He moved to the stove in the center of the room, sitting down at the small table alongside it. It would eventually get too hot, but that was infinitely better to being cold.

He drummed his fingers on the blanket as he thought, closing his eyes to better focus.

Only a handful of people could have both wanted him dead and paid to have the deed done without anyone figuring it out beforehand. Pyotr had more attempts on his life thwarted than even Tau was aware. If this one had slipped by him…

It was unquestionably an inside job. Precious few individuals knew his itinerary and fewer still had access to his ship. Pyotr felt a brief pang - he'd been fond of the Shangri la, as idiotic as it was to be attached to a machine. It had been custom built from the ground up by people who genuinely cared for his welfare - then improved upon by Tau. He doubted so much as a scrap it remained.

Thinking of the ship forced him to think of the crew. If he'd survived there was hope some of the others had…but it was unlikely. His crew, his bodyguard…Raoul had been more than that, though. The man spent more time with him than anyone, was the closest thing to a friend Pyotr had.

Gone. Protecting him. Raoul had chosen the duty, but that didn't lessen Pyotr's guilt any. But he'd been living with guilt so long he doubted he'd know what to do without it pressing down upon him. Not that he would ever know what that was like, the role of High Chancellor and Head of Internal Affairs ensured all his nights were restless and all his days a battle.

He needed to get back. The finest minds in the world had come at his request, order, or bribery to build a team against which no one would be able to stand, not even the persons gathered by those in favor of annihilating the Draconis. However, making his people into a solid team…

Well, he would have to hope they'd figure it out without him. Tresnor and Jundel would manage it, somehow. It was Bikendi he worried about, however…the man gave the words volatile and grouchy new levels of meaning.

Pyotr's only glint of hope in the entire thing was Valendel. He'd had some indication before everything exploded that Val was indeed Bikendi's match. Now if only he was correct about Val's magics…

He twitched with the need to know, to guide, to be involved. Things were beyond his control now and he didn't like it. Too many things could go wrong and he couldn't tap the resources to fix them. Everything would succeed or fail and he was trapped on Tredad unable to do anything because his rescuer would not present himself.

As if summoned by the restless thoughts, the trapdoor in the floor flew open, shoved hard from beneath and a figure heavily wrapped clambered up and in. Snow fell from his clothing onto the heated floor where it immediately began to melt. Bit by bit the wet snow gear was unfastened, unwrapped, and dropped on the floor.

Pyotr drew a sharp breath as he realized he hadn't been dreaming after all.

"Jade," he said softly. "It really is you."

Jade Alexander dropped the last of his snow gear on the floor, then flicked his head to whip the long braid of his hair over his shoulder. Sans weather garments, he was dressed simply in loose black pants and a dark green tunic which fell to mid-thigh, cinched low on his slender hips with a black sash. His nails shone a glossy green where they were planted on his hips. "Pyotr. Or should I say High Chancellor? I am not precisely certain of the etiquette in these sorts of situations."

Pyotr shook his head slowly and stood up, crossing the room to stand close - but not too close. Those painted nails were pretty, but on Jade they were far more than mere decoration.

He tried not to stare, but Jade…

Jade had always made it difficult for him to breathe, no matter how hard he tried to tamp down on the emotions that only Jade ever seemed to stir in him.

"How did we come to this?" Pyotr asked.

"Great misfortune," Jade replied coolly. "The very last thing I needed was a High Chancellor dropped on my roof."

"So that's where I landed," Pyotr said. That solved the riddle of how someone had found him.

Jade turned away. "Yes. In the middle of the night. You cause me nothing but trouble, Pyotr."

"Do you want me to apologize?" Pyotr asked, knowing exactly to what Jade referred.

That moment haunted him more than so many others… he'd wanted so badly for Jade not to be the one behind it all…then he'd wished he wasn't on the side he'd chosen so long ago. One more drop of bitterness for which he had only himself to blame.

"You wouldn't mean it and I wouldn't believe it if you did," Jade said, gathering up his gear and methodically drying and stowing it away. "We chose our sides. I lost. I have no desire to discuss it. The only thing that matters now is what to do with you. I do not need the IG breathing down my neck."

Pyotr frowned and said nothing, conflicts rising up in him. Jade was a badly wanted criminal, not least of all because in recent years certain convicted members of the IG had vanished from either their cells or the homes to which they'd been restricted in house arrest.

Never mind the crimes he'd been convicted of before that, the worst of those being cruelty to fellow man in the nature of experiments forced upon Draconis and their matches. He had been looking for Jade from the moment he'd vanished…

Yet now that Jade stood before him…

Pyotr stood conflicted. Indecision was not in his nature, but he'd once thought the same about falling in love. It figured that one man would prove him wrong on both counts. "So what are you going to do with me?" he asked at last. "I see now why I could find no comm. Equipment."

"And you won't," Jade said coldly. "You are my hostage, High Chancellor, until I see fit to release you. As I have no idea when I will be able to leave here - you had best make yourself comfortable."

Sighing, Pyotr gave up and sat down. It wouldn't be hard to sneak out later, find someplace to get word to Zero or Tau.

"You can stop thinking it," Jade said, the faintest amused smirk curving his lips. "When I said you were my hostage, Pyotr, I meant it. You are not leaving here, and even that idiotic gremlin of yours would have a few seconds work breaking through my security measures."

Pyotr kept his expression blank, but only just. Tau taking a few seconds to break through was the same as saying nobody was going anywhere without the right codes and clearance. No doubt in an in-lens, though he hadn't noticed the telltale flashes in Jade's eyes.

Still, later he would explore to take proper stock of the measures keeping him a prisoner. "So what do we do until then, Jade?"

"I hope you brought a book," Jade retorted.

Pyotr's lips twitched. "Lost in transport. Have any I can borrow?"

Jade shot him a withering look and instead went to the kitchen area.

It was strange and fascinating to see Jade in such humble surroundings. The Jade he knew wore silk and satin, was comfortable serving as a high-ranking official in the IG, and was more beautiful than even a royal Vrill.

The Jade before him now was just as lovely, just as cool and reserved…but less polished. More…real.

Yet farther away than ever. Not that Pyotr had ever stood a chance. His only life was as High Chancellor, and Jade was a convicted criminal. Not that such things stopped him from hiring criminals…the blurred lines were always the hardest part of his job. Jade, though, had made clear he stood against the IG and its laws when it came to his personal vendetta.

That they were more than ten years apart seemed only to be the final seal on the feelings he'd carefully locked away.

Still, he rather liked the Jade before him now, or would if he were able.

Pyotr shifted restlessly, unable to remember a time when he'd had nothing to do. No one was pinging his in-lens, he had no incoming calls, no emergencies to handle, no wars to prevent…no assassinations to order, no wild and half-wild IA agents to keep controlled.

Nothing.

"Is there something I can do?"

"Leave," Jade said acidly. "True to form, Pyotr, you are doing nothing but causing me trouble."

Pyotr frowned but said nothing, moving to one of the shuttered windows and tugging it open to look beyond at the unrelenting white.

He made a face. Tredad. He had hoped never to see it again.

Memories of his childhood were fuzzy at best, minus the gruesome discovery of his parents' bodies that last fateful day…

Ironic that his codename for years had been Winter, when he wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the miserable season.

He closed the shutter and turned back to his host. "Thank you for saving me, Jade."

Jade made no reply, did not even give any indication he heard the words.

Pyotr wondered suddenly why he had. It would have proven far more beneficial to Jade to let him die. Had someone discovered his body sometime, it would have been perfectly normal that he'd frozen to death. The chances of anyone finding him in the snow had been slim at best. If Jade hadn't been home when he'd landed, it was unlikely he ever would have known Pyotr was on his roof.

So why, then, had Jade rescued him? Nursed him for what must have been a significant length of time. The abuse Pyotr had suffered didn't heal in a day.

The question was on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it, knowing that Jade would not answer.

He resumed his place at the table, turning over all the myriad problems that would be facing his Draconis defense team, giving himself a headache but unable to stop thinking.

A glass was set down sharply in front of him, breaking his thoughts. Pyotr looked up as Jade set a steaming bowl down next.

"Eat," Jade said tersely.

Pyotr frowned. "Why?" he asked, knowing Jade knew he wasn't asking about food.

There was no reply.

Chapter Six

Planet 0000000 (Zero), The Palace of Eternity

"I know you must be tired of this question, Val - but you remember what you must do? I cannot emphasize enough the importance."

Val smiled. Ordinarily he would be annoyed; he wasn't stupid, and from the moment they'd begun to build a true case against destroying the Draconis he'd been given stern advice, strict reminders. However, he was still quite happily floating on the fact that he was Bikendi's assistants. He nodded at Tresnor. "Yes, sir. I remember."

Tresnor returned the smile and took a lazy pull of his cigar. "You're a splendid young man, Val, truly you are." He winked. "I think I might have been spared many a night of worrying if my sons had behaved as nicely as you."

"Yes," said a deep, nasally voice from behind them as the door chimed open. "Behaving and your sons do not go hand in hand, Daie."

It was early afternoon, and the group had gathered in one the sitting rooms in a private sitting in one of the business wings of the Palace of Eternity. Ordinarily this room would look out over the grand hall of the palace and its famous glass floor. For now, though, heavy drapes had been drawn across the glass wall.

The room was decorated in black and silver, small shocks of gold here and there. It was large, and a long, low table made entirely of glass separated the two clusters of couches and seats.

By the farthest wall, at a large table, Bikendi and Mendel were lost to their notes and theories. Val wanted badly to join them, but…outside of the lab, he was not sure of his place. Bikendi seemed to want nothing to do with him.

Val shunted his confusion aside and focused on the newcomers.

The one in front, who'd spoken, was a red-skinned human. Val normally wouldn't recognize him, but they'd long ago learned this would be the lawyer heading the argument in support of annihilating the Draconis.

He was…too severe and cold looking to be considered handsome. There was a…something about him Val didn't like. What, though, he couldn't place. He was glad the table would be between them, however.

Val sat with Tresnor and Jundel on a long wrap-around couch, tucked into the corner while they sat to his right - facing the door. Tresnor regarded the newcomer with a coolness he'd never seen from the Lord of Bangkok, taking a long, slow pull of his dark blue cigar. "Cathartes," he said calmly. "I see your manners are still lacking."

Cathartes was just as chilly as he sat down, three other people with him - none of whom Val recognized, though he recognized one as a Kreskan, one as…one of the cat races, he didn't know them all well…and the last a first quad human, with all the hallmarks of a scientist who would rather be in her lab. "How did they drag you off that moon of yours, Tresnor? I admit I was shocked to learn you were my 'rival' in this."

Tresnor relaxed in his seat, one arm draping along the back of the couch, just behind Jundel's shoulders. Looking between the groups, Val felt miserably that things were going on which he was missing - or there would be shortly. He focused on calculations, the work they'd done that morning the lab, what he had to say and do until the Trial actually began and the argument they were so carefully building finally was laid out. "Rival implies we're equals, Cathartes, and I do not believe we are."

Val could see the fury that rippled through Cathartes's body. He was rather stunned himself at the bold words - they would seem arrogant, obnoxious…but he sensed they were true. Tresnor was the Lord of Bangkok, and that put him above nearly everyone in matters of wealth and power…and even Val knew the stories of all the cases Tresnor had fought and won over the years.

Beyond that, he was here simply at the request of the High Chancellor. Did this not to save the Draconis, so much as a personal favor for Pyotr Kavalerov. He trumped everyone in the room.

Cathartes seemed to grow harder and colder before Val's eyes. "You're awfully bold for a man who has been long retired, to leave the running of his fortune and fame to his scandalous, flashy sons. I'm surprised they've not destroyed your precious little hovel, Tresnor."

Tresnor's eyes took on a hard glitter. "Do not insult my sons."

"I'm not insulting them," Cathartes retorted, a bit of malicious satisfaction in his voice.

Were all lawyers like these two? Val felt dizzy watching them. It was like watching the lizards back home fight each other, feinting dozens of strikes before suddenly rushing in for a gruesome kill. Every Draconis alive was grateful that aspect of the colorful lizards had not presented itself in the genetically-engineered race…though when Mendel had killed his father, many had wondered.

Cathartes continued speaking. "I am merely stating facts. They cause more scandal than all the rest of Bangkok. I'm amazed you're willing to show your face, Tresnor. I can't think a lawyer who permits his sons to behave in such sick fashion would be ideal for this delicate situation."

Tresnor took another pull of his cigar, long and slow, as though they were discussing the weather. When he finally spoke, his voice was as mellow as his motions - but beneath it was an undertone that made Val shiver. "I fail to see what my sons have to do with this discussion, other than your blatant and shoddy attempt to anger me. My sons are adults, they are free to do as they please. They are better than I at running Bangkok, perhaps because they genuinely enjoy it. If you are referring to the intimate nature of their relationship," Tresnor stared at Cathartes until the other man dropped his gaze, "it is hardly illegal under the strictures of the IG, and none of your business besides. This is your first warning, and you only get three - do not malign my sons."

Jundel stirred from where she'd been sitting quietly until then, and Val noticed for the first time that Bikendi and Mendel had joined them. "We are here to discuss how matters are to proceed in the face of the High Chancellor's absence. Of course we must go before the council…"

Before she could say more, the door once more chimed open, this time to admit the Grand Chancellor. "I see you're all here, or all of you that matter, anyway. There is still no indication of where the High Chancellor may be. We will proceed without him for now." He took a seat at the far end of the long table, situated exactly between the two teams. "The first hearing will be the day after tomorrow. Are both teams prepared?"

"Yes," Cathartes said.

Tresnor nodded. "We are prepared."

"Good," Arkadii replied. "I hope you do not require this reminder, but I will give it anyway. We are discussing the annihilation of an entire race. Only twice in the history of the IG has such a thing been done - the Kreskan demons and the Temperast. The entirety of the IG will be following this debate. We are keeping Zero at the highest levels of security until this matter is resolved. Every major official in the IG - Chancellors, Councilors, will serve as judges. Thousands of individuals have been cleared to be present during the debates. I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that you remain professional at all times. One slip and I will not hesitate to send all guilty parties to the nearest Rehab to cool down. The slightest mistake could cost your argument, and I hope we all appreciate what a vital debate this is."

Val nodded, hugging himself. Hearstone's Law…

Code 19

Any race deemed beyond all shadow of reasonable doubt to be a threat to all other races, with no discernible purpose for their existence, or if said race is found to have been artificially created with no apparent purpose and no place in the natural order discovered, is to be annihilated.

Also known as Hearstone's Law.

It was not employed lightly; as powerful as the IG was, it did not like to presume the right to destroy an entire race. It did so only when it was obvious there was no other recourse.

With the Temperast, it had been easy. With the first case, that which had given the law the name Heartstone…it had been necessary, but harder. Even now some wondered if there might have been a different way.

If they lost, he wondered if anyone would ever feel that way about the Draconis.

Even the Coni by and large considered them little more than energy supplies with rather more personality than they'd intended. Very few Coni were as open-minded as Jundel's match, who had come to Zero with her simply so she could attempt to win her case.

A race engineered to enhance the magics of the individual with whom they bonded, the bulk of their design taken from a small lizard known for its hardiness, it's unusually strong magics. Blended with all manner of other creatures from a host of planets - even now Bikendi was still working to sort out what precisely made up the Draconis…as the creators, realizing what precisely they'd done, had destroyed nearly everything to save themselves.

No one knew what was in the Draconis that would explain the way their colors had exploded far beyond the range of the Coni lizards, why they matched with magics capable beings who had never so much as been near Coni. Magics which it should be impossible for Draconis to have.

Mendel made sense. He was actually half-human, and had matched with a magic-capable human. Strange, but there was some explanation there, if only the barest thread.

But how to explain a Draconis which matched with a Fornarian, a race notorious for its xenophobic nature. Yet there was a Fornarian matched to a Draconis.

There was also a Draconis matched with an Avarri, according to the reports. Val assumed they would be present for the hearing, though all he'd gotten when he asked was a lot of rolled eyes and fervent shaking of heads.

However, not even the strange match of lizard and bird could compare to his matching Bikendi - by all rights Bikendi should not even exist, the child of a race feared by the entirety of the stars and one nearly as pacifistic as the Kreskans. That Val had matched with him…

It was little wonder they wanted to keep that fact a secret to drop on the jerks who wanted to wipe out his race.

Because they would wipe it out.

Should the verdict be to destroy the Draconis…such a decision meant people felt Draconis were a threat. Their danger decided, they would all be killed. Not simply rendered sterile and left to die…they would, like the Temperast, be rounded up and killed.

Val tried to see it, sometimes, why so many considered them a threat.

Matching increased the powers of magics exponentially - and in races like the Fornarians, the body somehow adjusted to the increased magics. It shouldn't be possible, Fornarians were built too sparingly to have and use magics stronger than those with which they were born. Yet it had been managed.

It was equally frightening the power an Avarri could have with increased magics - the reports on his telekinesis post match were staggering. As of yet, no Draconis had matched with anyone possessing telepathic magics…that the IG was aware, anyway. But the dangers of such powerful magics…

Yes, the Draconis could be dangerous. If a Draconis matched with a threat…

But of course separating a Draconis from his match would solve that problem. Once bonded, a Draconis and his match could not be separated by too great a distance - not more than a few miles at most - without their magics simply ceasing to function. They were literally reliant upon each other from the very second they matched.

Which brought up the other reason many wanted to wipe the Draconis out - pity.

How awful it must be to live as slaves, knowing you have no control over your match, that you must do as your match said, go where he goes.

Batteries with far too much awareness.

They'd be better off dead.

At his worst and most scared, Val hated those ones more than those who feared the Draconis. At least fear he could understand - all his life he'd been scared of who he would match with, if he'd ever match at all.

Now he was scared that in a few months he might very well be executed because the Coni had wanted stronger magics and screwed up getting them.

Yes, he could see fear making people do things like order the annihilation of a race…but not pity. He didn't want pity, and he didn't want to be killed because someone felt sorry for him.

He looked up as the conversation filtered back into his awareness, just in time to realize the conversation had been directed his way.

"So is this your prize exhibit, Daie? A mere child?" Cathartes stared at Val. "Are you matched, boy?"

Val swallowed. This was what they'd been drilling into his head ever since he'd matched - even before that, on the off chance he matched before the case went to trial, because no one had ever doubted that he would match with something strange if he was not a magics-less mutant after all.

The one thing no one had asked him was how well could he lie.

He couldn't. It wasn't something he'd ever been good at. As a child he'd never been included in the things other children did when they weren't supposed to be doing it, because he'd give it away - not on purpose though! - every single time.

Still, he'd learned that if he couldn't lie - he could do other things. He smiled, thinking only of all the things he loved - science, his research, the way he was helping Bikendi. On his lap, his datapad thrummed softly, warm through his clothing. "Most say I'm matched to my datapad. I just downloaded six new articles to read tonight, and I'm still arguing with some friends on the weather research going on in Danueb. Getting anything out of a Danueb is hard work - the only thing harder is getting anything out of a hellcat, right?"

There was snickering all around him, even Cathartes's people looked torn between amusement and disgust at his boyish behavior.

"Not quite," Tresnor said with a wink. "The actual phrase goes that it's hard to get anything but sex out of a hellcat."

Val flushed and made a soft 'oh' sound before dropping his gaze to his datapad. He'd never heard that phrase, and as everyone laughed softly around him, he really wished he'd just kept his mouth shut.

"A fine team you've got, Daie. If I'd actually been worried, this little meeting would have calmed my fears. A convicted killer, an angry recluse, a mouthy woman, and a child. My, you have come out of retirement in full splendor."

Tresnor merely laughed. "I will see you at the trial."

"Yes," Cathartes replied, and stood. A moment later he and his group were gone.

"Oh, well done, Val!" Jundel said warmly, leaning over Tresnor to pat his knee. "Honestly, they hold us completely in contempt now. They did not even notice you dodged the question."

"Ah-" Val shrugged. "I'm glad it worked?"

Tresnor chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder, then rose. "A fine performance, my boy. And when I present you and Bikendi - I cannot wait to see their faces. Even with Kavalerov absent, I think we may be able to make his argument. Yes, I have a very good feeling about all this." He winked. "I think you must be our good luck charm."

"You don't strike me as the type to believe in luck," Mendel said.

"Trust me, in my line of work - luck is everything. It has saved me far more often than logic and talent." He held his arm out to Jundel. "We are off to lunch. Feel free to join us - though I can see you're all dying to get back to your laboratories." Tresnor looked at Val, then slid his sharp eyes to Bikendi. "How is your new assistant working out?"

Bikendi grunted. "Most satisfactory, and that is all you're getting out of me, you nosy lawyer."

Laughing, Tresnor escorted Jundel from the room.

Val was barely able to keep himself sitting calmly and quietly on the couch. 'Most satisfactory' Bikendi had called him. Was it true? He looked up at Bikendi. "I finished transcribing all your notes. Had you anything further?"

"Yes," Bikendi said in his curt way. "You would prove more useful if you attended to our discussions out of the lab. If you do not, you're hardly learning more than half of what we do, and an assistant with only half the requisite knowledge is hardly useful."

"Yes, sir," Val said, unable to help smiling brightly - and all but bursting when Bikendi stared at him a moment longer than usual, the tight lines of his severe face easing the slightest bit, eyes lightening…for a second he'd almost thought Bikendi would smile back, and even the way Bikendi turned sharply away to stalk from the room could not dim his excitement. Not waiting to see what Mendel would do, or even bidding the other Draconis farewell, he ran after his match.

Chapter Seven

Unknown Planet, Unknown Location

"It wasn't my fault."

Yevi rolled his eyes. "I'm not even dignifying that with an answer. Can't you go one day without causing trouble?"

Raoul snorted. "What would be the fun in that?"

"You're an idiot."

"So I've oft been told," Raoul replied lightly, but forcing the cheerfulness was getting more and more difficult. He was tired, damn it. Babysitting a bunch of fucking flowers was proving to be just as difficult as babysitting a troublemaking High Chancellor. If not more so, because at least the High Chancellor wasn't fond of kicking him whenever he got a little too mouthy. "Would you stop making it hurt more?"

Yevi yanked hard on the bandages and gave him another glare. "How the hell are you still alive?"

"Calculate those variables you mentioned back when I was still in that shed and no doubt you'll find your answer."

"Should have left your ass there," Yevi groused as he finished bandaging Raoul's arm. "What were you doing anyway? Besides interrupting me? No one else gets injured this easy doing manual labor."

Raoul snorted. "Try telling Corin to stop fucking kicking me-"

"Stop mouthing off," Yevi cut in. "That usually helps kids make friends while they're out playing. It also means the boss is less likely to get pissed and knock your head off."

"No one finds me funny," Raoul groused.

Yevi rolled his eyes and stood up to start putting away the medical supplies. "I feel sorry for whoever warms your bed on your off days."

Raoul grinned. "That position is currently open, if you're interested."

"Thanks, but no," Yevi said, rolling his eyes again. "Mother of the Land, being back home would prove less aggravating as you."

Well, that didn't make much sense. The only thing about which Vrill were vainer than their looks was their homeland. Everyone there was still annoyed and confused that the Crown Prince had abstained from the throne - rumors abounded that he'd run off with a pirate lover.

Pyotr always smirked when he heard that story. Raoul had learned not to ask when he saw that expression.

So why on earth would a Vrill not want to go home? They only left home to somehow improve either themselves or their homeland - though how exactly a race which considered itself perfect could improve, Raoul had always wondered.

Even he, however, wasn't quite dumb enough to ask a Vrill that. No, no. He liked all his appendages right where they were. "So what are you up to, beautiful?"

"What does it look like?" Yevi snapped, absently shoving back a loose strand of hair as he worked. "Lots and lots of soul to process."

It was Raoul's turn to roll his eyes and instead of getting up, merely stretched out on the couch where Yevi had shoved him when he'd come in bleeding.

Honestly, it wasn't his fault someone had left a broken bit of cutter in the field, and if Corin hadn't fucking kicked him - oh, Raoul was going to enjoy arresting that bastard. He was going to go positively Rehab on the bastard when this was over.

If this was his attitude after only a few days, he did not want to know what he'd be like at the end.

Grimacing, Raoul shifted his thoughts. "I don't suppose there's any alcohol to be had around here?"

"Not for you," Yevi replied tartly. "Bad boys do not get treats."

Raoul grinned. "What sort of treats do I get if I'm good, pretty boy?"

"Not those kind," Yevi retorted. "In case you've forgotten, I'm actually working."

"Oh?" Raoul asked, just to see him get mad. "I hadn't noticed."

Yevi ignored him.

Raoul sighed and closed his eyes, grateful for the cool of the cabin they were in. A simple thing, all efficiency and little comfort. There was a small bed in one corner, tidily made with a thin green blanket and faded white sheets. It didn't look especially sturdy, but then again neither did he. The floor was old wood, creaky and faded and sagging a bit in places - but clean, swept and scrubbed. The couch on which he reclined and Yevi's workstation were just as sparkling clean.

And there was a small plant growing in the single window, looking better than the entire fucking field Raoul had been fighting with all day to harvest the damned flowers.

Vrills. Even the snarliest of the lot still cooed over plants. Raoul finally settled his gaze on the snarly Vrill in question, more than happy to let it linger there. If he was going to be stuck here for only the stars knew how long, he could have done much, much worse in the way of allies.

Now, the only question was - how to get the snarly, pretty Vrill where he wanted him? Yevi was the reason he was stuck on this rock indefinitely, so damn it Raoul was going to get something, even if it only wound up being a fist to his jaw. "So what's a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?"

"Contemplating murder," Yevi said, mashing a few more keys before swinging around in his chair and folding his arms across his chest, glaring at Raoul. "You're all better. Get back to work."

"I'm still feeling…woozy."

Yevi gave him a Look and finally stood, stalking back over to him. "Get up or I'm going to call Corin in here to kick you."

Raoul pouted. "Now that's not very nice."

"So you're what, Half Fornarian and half whiney bitch?"

"At least I'm not a walking, talking plant," Raoul replied.

Yevi narrowed his eyes and moved closer, obviously intent upon violence.

Raoul didn't give him a chance, snaking an arm out and grabbing Yevi's slender wrist, yanking the man down on top of him, pinning him down with one arm and getting another grope of that fine ass he'd been watching since they'd left the shed.

"Let me go," Yevi hissed, but his strength wasn't quite up to Raoul's. "You rock-headed lug."

Grinning, shamelessly taking another grope of that ass, Raoul smothered the curses still being hurtled at him with a kiss, not surprised to find his snarling Vrill tasted like clear water and fresh green things, a little bit sweet.

He swore as blood entered the picture, and pulled back with a grin, licking the blood from his lips. "You should lighten up."

"You should not take such liberties without permission," Yevi snapped.

Raoul lifted a brow and let him go. "Take such liberties? Who the hell actually says that sort of thing? And you were flirting back."

"That no excuse!" Yevi made certain to dig in his elbows as he pushed off of Raoul and stood back up. A few more strands of hair had slipped free of the myriad braids - today the deep green was interspersed with dark red ribbons, an interesting contrast. Raoul thought he preferred the yellow.

Only a Vrill would manage to look so pretty when he was up to his neck in soul harvesting for a Top Ops assignment.

"I always forget Vrill are so tetchy," Raoul said, sighing and sitting up. "I meant no harm."

Yevi grunted. "Get back out there before Corin comes looking for you. I prefer to have him in here as little as possible."

"Yeah, yeah," Raoul said, heaving a long sigh. "I will never again complain of life being boring. I'd forgotten how much I hate this sort of manual labor."

He thought he'd left it well and truly behind. Nothing was worse than hard labor that accomplished nothing, that left you dead and drained with nothing to warm but the thought of doing it all over the next day.

Not that he'd have lacked for company if he'd wanted it…but it was no fun to invite someone in when they just assumed it was what you'd do. He wasn't his mother, thanks and good night.

"How did you get into your line of work?" Yevi asked as he reached the door. "You seem more the Bangkok type, less the Zero type."

Raoul stiffened, ice lancing down his spine. No matter where he went… "Yes, I suppose I do. Just like plants belong buried in the ground!" He stormed out and stalked back to the field, ignoring Corin's sharp barking.

No matter where he went…

He knew he was overreacting. There was no reason to get mad about one stupid comment after his own little stunt. He always overreacted. Damn it, just because-

Snarling, Raoul bent back to work, scooping up his equipment from where he'd dropped it upon slicing his arm. His arm protested as he put it to work, and Raoul wished briefly that he'd cadged some pain killers out of Yevi before he'd stormed off in a snit. Ah, well. That would teach him to get into snits.

Ha.

Angrily Raoul went from flower to flower, carefully slicing open the seed pods and catching the thick, clear liquid that spilled out. Aggravating, meticulous, hard labor. His back was going to hate him by the end of this sour adventure.

And just because he was feeling whiney, he wanted his stunners back too!

Raoul sighed and attempted to focus on nothing but his task - but he had long ago trained himself too well to pay attention to everything around him.

The workers were all quiet, but tense - they didn't like him, as he'd cost them two workers, even if it had been their own fault for playing with strange stunners. Any idiot should have been able to see there were at least two safeties to each one, and where there was two there could easily be three.

Morons.

Raoul stopped short when he realized he'd started humming, and grimaced. He hadn't done that in years and didn't like he was picking it back up. Humming was too much reminder of washing dishes, putting up with people who had all the money in the stars but hadn't used it to buy manners.

Going home to clean up, then back out to yet another hellhole to do more thankless grunt work. That had been his life for too many years.

He didn't belong in Bangkok. The only way he'd ever go near the place was to protect Pyotr. He'd done his part making Bangkok sparkle, and he wasn't doing it anymore.

Drat it, somehow this was Yevi's fault too. The whole damn mess could be Yevi's fault so far as he was concerned. Stupid Vrill.

Raoul sighed and sat down in the field, carefully setting aside