gaian consortium 03 - the gaia gambit by Christine Pope Page A

encounter, that she had been placed carefully to catch his eye and engage him in conversation. Too bad she hadn’t done a very good job of taking notes.
    “So you did.” She smiled, as if at her own foolishness. “I suppose I had a little too much wine.”
    Rast didn’t believe that for a second. Oh, he had drunk a good deal, but not so much that he hadn’t noticed she took only one glass for every two of his, and the last one she had left at the table more than half full. Abruptly, he asked, “Who sent you?”
    The smile faltered a little, but she managed to tilt her head and give him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
    “Who made sure you were seated next to me at dinner tonight? Admiral sen Trannick?”
    At that question, her smile disappeared altogether. She pursed her lips and looked away from him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Of course you do. You’re very attractive, but you’re not a very good liar.”
    “I don’t see what the harm is. I would have gone with you even if — ” And she broke off, her flush made more pronounced by the reddish moonlight.
    “Even if he hadn’t asked?” Rast finished for her. “And what was the incentive? Did he pay you?”
    “I’m not a whore!” she flashed. “There are many women who would have gladly taken my place, but the admiral’s wife is my mother’s sister-daughter. I had the first right.”
    “Right to what?” he asked, although he thought he already knew the answer.
    “To Rast sen Drenthan, new defender of Syrinara.”
    “And that is all?”
    “‘All’?” she repeated, her tone innocent — but, as he had already noted, Rast didn’t think much of her skills at prevarication.
    “No direction to school me in the attractions of Stacian women? No admonishment to do whatever was necessary to make me forget a certain Gaian female?”
    She started a little at that, then stared down at the bedclothes. They, too, were Eridani, he noted absently, fine of weave, intricate in pattern, bits of metallic thread throwing out errant sparkles under the light of Syrinara’s moon.
    “Ah,” he said then. Her silence told him all he needed to know.
    Without further comment he went to the chair to retrieve his discarded uniform and began to pull it on.
    “That’s all?” she demanded, pushing the covers aside and going to stand a few paces away from him. He noted that she had planted herself directly between him and the door. “You would throw this aside for some slaindar ?”
    The word, directly translated, meant “white meat.” A slur his people used for the Gaians, even though, strictly speaking, not all Gaians could be described as white. But for the Stacians, the word also meant insipid, useless. He knew the woman standing before him had used it on purpose to wound, to provoke him into some sort of response.
    He would not allow himself to become angry. Lira Jannholm’s honor was so clear to him that defending it to this female would be a waste of breath. Besides, if he did not acknowledge the remark, then she would have less ammunition to take to the admiral, less proof that Rast truly was still interested in Lira Jannholm.
    After fastening the last button of his jacket, he said, “Step aside.”
    She didn’t move. In a way, she was magnificent, the fall of her trinials glittering with copper and silver and the dull red sheen of unfaceted carnelian, her breasts rising and falling in angry breaths. A month ago, he would have reached out and taken her again, this time on the floor, against the rug of woven Iradian silk.
    Now, though, he only repeated, “Step aside.” A touch of steel entered his tone. “Now.”
    Finally she faltered, and moved a few inches to her left. “The admiral will not be pleased.”
    “No, I suppose he won’t. But that is my problem, not yours.”
    She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but the expression on his face must have been enough to stop her. In silence she stood as he passed