Don't Call Me Kitten! (8 page)

“Found what
Sir? Do you want me to send for General Polemarch?”

“No I
particularity don't want you to tell Polemarch.” Polemarch wasn't
exactly on his favored list since his troops had stuffed up in the
Himalayas. This was all getting out of hand. He needed a bolder
plan of attack to tackle the enemy.”Arrange for one of our agents
in Moscow to watch the subject but he’s not to interfere with her.
There’s some lucrative trade deal hanging on her short-term safety.
We won’t touch her while she remains in the Russian Mafia’s
territory. As soon as she sets so much as one foot on Australian
soil have her killed.”

“Yes Sir.
Anything else Sir.”

“Yes, set me
up a teleconference with the commander at our base on the dark side
of the moon and get me some up-to-date satellite photos of Boswell
and its surrounding area.”

Smith saluted
and quickly made his escape, happy to have come out of Sakla's
office alive. Few did. The boss was rather known for removing the
entrails of anyone who brought him even slightly bad news.

Neither
nervous Smith or fuming Sakla noticed the tiny aphid atop Sakla's
much mauled rubber tree plant as it took flight, leaving via the
vent system.

Present
day...

Tyra held the
mobile phone to her ear, glaring at the direction the discussion
was going in. “No they can’t just go ahead and blithely demolish
the adjacent buildings. That’s the town’s history they’re wanting
to bulldoze. If they want building approval to build their
supermarket on Valeton’s disused recreation ground they need to
come up with a design that sympathetically incorporates the
existing structures and puts them to good use. We’re offering to
give them the land anyway. They can give a bit back. Perhaps a
childcare facility and fun park where shoppers can safely leave
their children. Free site-wide WiFi, a taxi rank and a once a week
shuttle bus for the old age home residents.”

“Yes I do want
much. They’re a global corporation with more money than any single
country in the world today. And make sure they get an archeologist
to document the history of those buildings and do some interpretive
signage.”

“Yes they’ll
have my backing if they agree to all that. Yeah I’ll see you at the
meeting tonight. Oh and by the way, if those buildings mysteriously
burn down the whole deal’s off, is that understood?” She hit end
and threw the phone on the bed in disgust then stretched out an arm
so Arion could help her into the jacket he'd chosen for her. “I
don't wear suits?”

Arion had
always known it was going to be a tough job getting Tyra to dress
the part. She wasn't one for dressing up, accept that is when she
was doing it for her guys but that was in the privacy of their
home. “Mayors wear them. Impressions are important. I'm just trying
to paint a scene with these clothes. Something that says power,
confidence and don't mess with me, or something like that.”

Tyra sighed as
she put her other arm in the jacket. “I appreciate this, I really
do. I just...how the hell did all this happen?”

“It happened
because you care. Cripes, the holdups because of the new building
regulations have been frustrating the hell out of all of us. But it
was you who got up the gumption to do that radio interview. After
that it was inevitable that everyone would get behind you. All you
had to do was put your name on the ballot paper.”

“I just didn't
expect...”

“Yeah, I know,
stuff happens like that sometimes.”

A wash of
guilt rolled over Tyra. Here she was whinging to someone who'd
spent millennia trapped in stone. “Sorry Arion.”

“Hey. It's
good to face these things head on. Just don't waste too much energy
angsting over it. It is what it is. You'll be great. You already
are great. Now pirouette around so I can decide what jewelery and
shoes go with this.”

“As long as
it's not pearls.”

“Pearls look
great on women in power.”

“Pink
pearls?”

Arion had a
sudden vision of Tyra draped in strands of pink pearls. He would
gently tug them against her nipples. Maybe fasten a strand at her
waist. His cock twitched thoughtfully. But somehow he couldn't see
the members of the Shire's Chamber of Commerce seeing the potential
of pink pearls. “I don't think so.”

“Well I'll
wear the dolphin pendant you gave me then. That's my good luck
charm.”

Arion was glad
that she valued the pendant, it had been his mother’s before she’d
evolved on to a plane of existence where jewellry held little
meaning. “It's dainty enough to be understated.”

Tyra took her
chance while Arion was distracted in his musing to make a grab for
her favorite strap on sandals.

Arion was
quicker and snatched them out or her hands, replacing them with a
pair of elegant black heels. “Simple and Italian.”

“Who's going
to know where the shoes were made?”

“Believe me
there are those who will know. If you want to vent your inner rebel
wear some stockings and suspenders. You know we'll be salivating
just thinking about them.”

Thex and Simon
materialized into the bedroom, along with their cat. All three of
them seemed to be enjoying the show. Thex came over for a closer
inspection of Tyra's outfit, caressing the straight of her back and
adjusting her collar before stepping back apparently pleased.
“You've got that right Arion.”

“Well isn't
that going to frustrate the hell out of all of you while we all sit
through this Council meeting.”

Simon's eyes
twinkled with mischief. He was obviously already scheming. “We'll
be anticipating removing them from you. All that power. I may need
to remind you of your place. The place in my heart that is.”

Tyra blushed,
the rest of her blood rushing to heat her core. “Sheesh. Stop it
Simon. You're making me wet.”

Simon came
over and whispered in her ear. Not that the others couldn't hear
but the effect was intimate and sent a shiver through Tyra. “I'll
behave...but only until I don't have to.”

Damn he was
still there! It was the same blank faced mobster in dark glasses
who’d been following her since she’d left her home. He was short
but thick set with balding hair and distinguished by a hefty
mustache that matched the thickness of his bushy brows. His ill
fitting oversized jacket was ominously bulky even if there was no
way he could have gotten a gun past airport security.

Returning from
a loo stop she’d casually walked back to her seat, surreptitiously
taking in his measure as she went past his row. He’d have to be
dealt with after they landed but for now she'd keep pretending she
hadn’t noticed him. Like icing on her cake of troubles her
allocated seat wasn’t getting any better either. After nearly
twenty one hours in the air it wasn’t getting any softer, or
bigger. There was only one description she felt about her current
accommodation and that was ‘wedged’.

No one she
knew would dare call her large but a few had been brazen enough to
call her ‘big boned’ to her face. Usually the look she gave them
was enough for them to go white as a sheet and never mention it
again. Something about the scar on her face made them back away in
fear. Quietly honest with herself though, at nearly six feet tall
and eleven stone she was ... well ... big boned. But since she had
less than three percent body fat on her whole body she didn’t see
that as a big deal. She smiled to herself with the knowledge it
kept men at bay as well, men who weren’t put off by the scar.
Really she had no time for the other half of her species, except in
a professional capacity. Even her below shoulder viking blond hair,
classic high boned cheeks, clear blue eyes and ample chest weren’t
enough for most guys to get up the nerve to talk to her casually.
The guy in the window seat, next to her, was nearly hugging the
window, just to keep his distance. She refrained from looking at
him so as not to intimidate him any more than he already was. The
last thing she needed was him clambering past her to escape.

The English
woman, Sue, in the aisle seat had been friendly enough. They’d
chatted briefly about the sights in Moscow but mostly they’d just
read their respective ebooks and slept, only occasionally stirring
to accept an inflight meal or drink from a passing hostess. Somehow
she didn’t think the smartly dressed business woman in her white
pressed shirt, tailored suit and no-nonsense flat shoes would like
what she was reading but you could never tell just from appearances
alone.

One thing her
“other’ job had taught her was that appearances could be deceiving.
She’d learnt to be perceptive to the little things most people
missed: tiny mannerisms, the rate and depth of the breath, the
dilation or contraction of the pupils, the changing shades of a
person’s skin... And if you could touch a person even better. The
temperature and moisture or dryness of their skin or a thin bead of
sweat could tell you oh so much. But the woman’s breathing hadn’t
changed and there was no wave of heat or cold coming off her, no
pheromones of fear or arousal. So it wasn’t any thriller, horror or
romance she was reading. She doubted her companion’s book was much
more than a guide to negotiating her next business deal. Maybe it
helped her go to sleep.

Personally she
didn’t trust the man seated five rows back so she only lightly
immersed herself in one of her favorite novels. Her No 1 kick ass
heroine was busy sucking the life out of some psychopathic shape
shifter who'd badly messed up one of her men. Helena let the
adrenalin and vicarious arousal the story gave her keep her awake.
Another few hours and they’d be landing in Sydney. If she could
lose her tag maybe she could get some sleep on her connecting
flight.

The feel of
the Bentley's keys in her hand gave Tyra immense pleasure. It had
been months since Simon had given her his old Bentley GT Sports
when she'd asked for it. She hadn't had the heart to see it sold.
It had soul. Simon's essence pervaded it. Convincing George
Morrisby, Simon's chauffeur, to let her drive it had been a whole
different kettle of fish. He'd insisted she learn to drive it like
it deserved. Now that she'd finished all her advanced driver
training George no longer had any excuse not to hand over the keys
but he'd still been reluctant, seeing it as his job to drive her to
the council meeting. In the end Tyra had gotten devious. She knew
George had a soft spot for the local electrician Ally. They were
more than just good friends, they were a team. Often working late
into the night on one engineering project or the other. Sometimes
ably assisted by Upal and Mendal, two ex-Din who were now their
friends as well as allies.

Trouble was
Ally seemed resistant to George's more intimate advances. Rumour
had it that she'd had her heart burnt when she was a teenager. The
offending fink had long since left town but Ally hadn't had a
relationship since.

Tyra, knowing
that Ally was a closet gourmet, convinced George to entice her with
some of the food from his homeland. With the help of their local
chef extraordinaire, Simon, they had prepared a sumptuous mix of
vegetarian delights. Not something that was that easy given that
most Sudanese food was meat based or full of onions and hot
chillis. One of the side effects of the retrovirus all the mortals
in the town had taken was an aversion to such things. Which meant
the town had a burgeoning trade in swapping vegan recipes. Given
the learning curve everyone was going through it hadn't proven too
difficult to pique Ally's interest in trying something different
and exotic. So George was serving dinner tonight and Tyra had the
keys to her car.

Simon settled
into the passenger seat beside her, immediately relaxing into a
trance. Tyra thought it pretty cool that Simon was that prepared to
trust her driving. The two discretely but heavily armed warriors in
the back seemed content to nut out the workings of the backseat DVD
system. Thex and Arion had recently discovered Sci-fi and were
avidly working their way through the genre, every time they got a
free moment. The fact that the Galaxy's supreme commander of the
space fleet and his second in command were cuddled up in the back
enjoying an evil alien shoot em up just plain did it for her. Life
was good. It would get even better if she gave in to the urge to
test the Bentley's speed from zero to sixty miles per hour,
rumoured to be about 4.2 seconds. She glanced guiltily at Simon's
peaceful form before glancing in the rear-vision mirror at Thex. No
help there, reading her mind he just grinned and gave her a thumbs
up. A fleeting mental connect to the town's local cops and she knew
where they were. The road was all hers. Biting her lip to quell her
glee she turned the key and pushed the accelerator to the
floor.

Yup...it
really did do 4.2 seconds. Simon didn't stir, except for a raised
eyebrow and a twitch of the lips.

Upal rolled up
his sleeve. “I know this has worked on the whole town but you sure
this is going to work on us, we’re not exactly human Jnarn?”

“That’s what
we want to find out. Tests I’ve done on your DNA show a fusion of
human and Din genetic material. Simon’s mum, the Earth goddess,
thinks it will be okay.”

“Can you undo
it if it goes wrong?”

“You won’t
die. Sally’s here in case you flat line on us.” Jnarn evaded
answering the question.

“Great, that’s
really reassuring. No offence Sally.” His tone let all concerned
know he wasn’t convinced.

“None taken.
It’s not as if I’ve had to go through any of this myself.”

‘Hey that’s a
point. Why don’t I just get one of you guys to give me a bit of
your essence, blood or semen.”