Under the Eye of God (7 page)

Normally they would have stayed in their makeshift quarters in the forward cargo bay—much roomier than the salon, but still too cramped for them—but whenever the Lady Zillabar went anywhere, even from one room to another, her Guards first checked it for security. The Lady hadn't lived this long by tolerating carelessness. She'd seen too many Vampires die at the hands of fanatics and assassins.

Two of the Dragons took up positions by the forward door, two waited at the aft entrance to the salon. The remaining two stood stolidly in the center of the lounge, the bony crests of their skulls almost touching the bright ceiling panels. One of them turned slowly, his nostrils flaring, his tongue flicking the air, tasting the faint perfumed essence of the lounge. His expression remained unchanged, but he spoke softly into a wrist communicator. “We have smelled the air in the salon. It will not offend.”

Watching from the corner of the room, Robin could barely hide her discomfort. She glanced sideways to Ota, but the bioform's expression remained carefully blank. If Ota felt uneasy, it didn't show. The two waited in quiet, respectful postures.

One of the Dragons glanced speculatively at Ota and grinned, showing a mouth full of long white knives.
The better to eat you with, my dear
. . . . The grin became a nasty leer as the Dragon's tongue flickered out; it glistened with a slick pale sheen, licking the air for the faintest taste of Ota. Its eyes took on a deadly glaze.

Robin noticed. She couldn't help but think, i
t only wants permission
. But she kept her face impassive.

Ota merely met the Dragon's cruel study with its own impassive gaze, an extraordinary act of courage for an animal the Dragons considered only
prey
; but as the Executive Officer of the starship, Ota couldn't allow itself to betray the slightest sign of weakness. It had to maintain absolute composure.

A moment more and another Dragon stepped heavily in, Captain Naye-Ninneya, the Captain of the Lady's Dragons, the largest and most brutal of the squad. Lady Zillabar followed him, sweeping imperiously into the center of the salon. She wore a cloud of seaspray blue and a cape of ghostly mist, all outlined in bright sunshine fluorescence that enhanced her ethereal beauty like a pale dawn. Nevertheless, it failed to hide the hardness in her eyes. She looked dispassionate as ever. She glanced about the salon, only casually noting Ota's and Robin's presence; she would not otherwise acknowledge their existence. She turned to the Captain of her Dragons. “And the Star-Captain?”

Naye-Ninneya stiffened at attention. “I have no knowledge.”

Lady Zillabar raised her eyebrow. She studied the Dragon coldly. “I see. . . .” She glanced away, as if it made no difference, though everyone present knew it did. The Phaestor had no word for failure; the closest concept in the Phaestor tongue implied betrayal, unworthiness, and incontinence.

“Excuse me—” Ota stepped forward, looking calmly up into the eyes of the hungrier Dragon. “I have the honor to inform the noble presence that the Star-Captain will attend the needs of the Lady and her Guard at her earliest convenience. As soon as we complete the docking, she will present herself.” Having finished her recitation, Ota stepped crisply back into position. She omitted the bow; the Dragon might have interpreted the bow as presumptuous. Humans bowed; prey didn't.

The Dragon—the metal badge across its chest identified it as Kask-54—turned to its Captain to repeat the information in sharp guttural barks. Naye-Ninneya accepted the report and turned back to Lady Zillabar. “The Star-Captain will attend shortly—”

The Lady gestured in annoyed dismissal. Excuses bored her. She parted her mouth slightly as she tasted the air; her expression became blank. She did not like the taste of this vessel. She did not like the manner in which this Captain operated her ship. She did not like the disrespectful treatment. She did not appreciate the underwhelming quality of the service. But neither did she like expressing her annoyance publicly.

Even if she could have succeeded in making this trip in secret, she would not have enjoyed the passage. This starship
stank
. That she had endured this unpleasant journey all in vain only added to the annoyance that she felt—and now had to conceal. She would not sink to the level of her ill-mannered hosts. She would not say what she felt. Not here. Not now.

The Lady would repay the insults, yes, but in her own way. The
Lady MacBeth
would suffer unexplainable mishaps for many years to come—until the Lady Zillabar grew bored with the game.
¹⁴

Star-Captain Neena Linn-Campbell entered then. She wore her crisp black jumpsuit emblazoned with her Star-Captain's brilliant gold insignia over the heart. She inclined her head in the curtest of bows. She intended to get this ritual over with quickly. “Lady Zillabar. We have docked with StarPort.”

Lady Zillabar folded her hands and waited coldly.

Captain Campbell gritted her teeth, swallowed her pride, and continued, “You have honored my ship. I thank you for the privilege of service.”

Lady Zillabar studied Captain Campbell with pale gray eyes. The perfunctoriness of this woman's gratitude annoyed her. Didn't she recognize the authority confronting her? Didn't she realize the danger of impudence? Not that it mattered, of course. Zillabar had already decided how she would express her displeasure. Nonetheless, the woman's insubordination rankled. She glanced sideways to Naye-Ninneya, the Captain of her Guards. He looked to Kask-54. Kask stepped to Ota and rumbled, “The Star-Captain may present her gift now.”

Ota did not move to relay the message to Captain Campbell. Instead Captain Campbell said, “The corporation that owns this vessel does not practice the custom of gifts, my Lady. I hope this will not discomfit you.” Captain Campbell did not add that she herself held the majority of shares in the corporation.

Lady Zillabar remained impassive while she considered her next words. “We would not have you violate your charter,” she said graciously. “The quality of your service demonstrates sufficient gratitude. It has not gone unnoticed. However, if you—acting only as an individual—wish to present a gift of your own free will, outside of any constraints of your corporate charter, we would not refuse. On the contrary, we would consider it a generous personal exhibition of loyalty to the Phaestoric Ruling Authority. Such an act would prove sufficient to ensure many years of gratitude and good will.” She opened her hands to Captain Campbell.

For some reason, Captain Campbell thought about brinewood. She spread her own hands emptily before her and said, “You humble me with your benevolence, Lady Zillabar. Unfortunately, this ship carries nothing of sufficient value to offer as a gift, nothing worthy of your station. I would not presume to insult you by offering a token of less than noble rank.”

“The value of the gift has no relevance,” the Lady insisted. “The thought maintains.” She glanced casually around the room. “Any token will do. . . . “Her eye lit upon the bioform, Ota. “Even a lowly servant, perhaps—”

“That servant? Oh, no, my Lady. I could not. That servant suffers from laziness and incompetence. It rarely bathes, and the reek of its unwashed fur, the acrid smell of its sweat, the stink of its shit—” Captain Campbell allowed herself a delicious shudder. “—my Lady, please. I would not sleep well at nights thinking of the terrible deed I had done. You would get no useful work from this poor specimen. Look at the clumsiness of it, the slackness of its posture, the slovenliness of its general appearance, the ungraceful attitude with which it moves. It shambles like a hirsute pig. I insist you reconsider. This creature has no manners. It would so certainly affront your gracious sensibilities that even to burden you with its ownership would constitute the gravest of insults. I couldn't. I simply couldn't.”

“Still . . .” the Lady Zillabar mused, “. . . I would not have it said that the master of this vessel lacks the grace to offer even the smallest of gifts to the nobility.” She appeared to consider the question further. “You speak honestly when you say the bioform would provide me with no pleasure; but I could give it to my Dragons as a plaything. They would not mind at all. They might even look forward to it as a minor sport. What say you?”

Ota hung her head in shame and mumbled something. Both Lady Zillabar and Captain Campbell looked at it, surprised at the interruption. Ota repeated itself. “Perhaps I should go. I would not want rancor on my behalf.”

“Keep quiet, Ota!” Captain Campbell snapped at the bioform with genuine annoyance. “If I want you to have an opinion, I'll give you one.”

“You see,” said Zillabar, pleasantly. “Even the bioform agrees. It
wants
to come with me.”

“Still, I must refuse.” Captain Campbell's voice stayed firm, despite the apparent eagerness of her demeanor. “My employers will ask me, ‘What have you done with the disreputable beast, the LIX class bioform?' I'd have to tell them, ‘I gave it to the Lady Zillabar—as a plaything for her Dragons, of course.' They would immediately relieve me of my command for insulting you and bringing shame upon this vessel. No, I can't.”

Zillabar's expression darkened. “I would have the beast,” she said quietly. “
I'll pay you for it
.” Her tone became deadly.

Captain Campbell held her posture rigid. The moment had turned suddenly tense. She stared directly into Zillabar's cold gray eyes. “I will not sell the beast to you,” she said. The watching Dragons bristled and stiffened. One of them even went so far as to bare its teeth. Campbell knew that she had put herself in great danger by her refusal; she needed to ameliorate it quickly. “Don't take it personally, Lady. I won't sell the beast to
anyone
.” She shrugged apologetically. “I confess a fondness for it. I would not feel . . . right, allowing the beast to go. I have this fear that someone might forget its sentience and make the grave mistake of using it as food.”

“That will not happen.”

Captain Campbell shook her head. “Would you guarantee that?” And then she boldly met the Lady's eyes again.

The Lady stiffened in anger—

The Regency Charter expressly forbade the use of sentients as food—except under certain well-defined conditions.
¹⁵
Without a license, no Vampire, no Dragon would dare to disobey Article One—certainly not in any way that might come under public scrutiny. Doing so could trigger ferocious mass uprisings, and no one in authority wanted to risk a repeat of the wasteful Obalon Carnages. Unsubstantiated stories still abounded, however—enough to trouble the sleep of more than one Vampire aristocrat. Those who knew the truth had reason to worry about the rumors.

By bringing up the subject so indelicately, Captain Campbell not only demonstrated her distrust of Zillabar; she also served warning. If Zillabar tried to take Ota by force, Captain Campbell would demand an Auditor's guarantee. She didn't know if Zillabar would tolerate—or even risk—the personal attention of the Auditors, but she had to take the gamble.
¹⁶
She hoped the Lady wouldn't challenge her beyond this point. She had no further cards to play.

— but it worked.

Zillabar recovered her composure quickly. She sniffed in displeasure. “I no longer want the beast.” She added, distastefully, “Your fondness has the stink of perversion.”

“Ahh,” grinned Campbell. “You've found me out. I suffer the great weakness common to my species. I anthropomorphize. I bond too easily. I can't help myself. I care about my . . . my
family
.”

Lady Zillabar stiffened again—and this time she didn't try to hide her displeasure. “I will thank you,” she said, “
to mind your language
. I have no interest in the breeding habits of your species. I choose not to have my nose rubbed in the unpleasant circumstances of animal behavior. I'll overlook it this time; I'll assume you didn't know better—but if you bring the subject up again, I'll file a complaint of public indecency against you.”

Before Captain Campbell could apologize—assuming that she would have—EDNA chimed: “We have secure pressure in the airlock. Passengers may debark at will.”

Zillabar used the interruption as an excuse to end an unpleasant conversation. “You've shown me the best of your hospitality,” she said with deadly calm to Campbell. “Very soon, I will show you the best of mine.” Then she turned imperiously and swept out the forward door. Her Dragons hurried to catch up with her.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Ota turned to Campbell, eyes watering in relief. The bioform dropped to its knees in front of Campbell and grabbed her hands, nuzzling them eagerly, making wordless sounds of gratitude.
¹⁷

“Goddammit! Get up!” Captain Campbell jerked her hands away. “I didn't do it for you. I did it for me. I need someone on this ship who knows how to keep the books. Now, quick—go take care of the Lady's belongings before she sends her lizards back.”

A squad of ceremonial Dragons met Zillabar's party at the docking tube. They came to rigid attention as she stepped out of the lock. “Your escort stands ready, Lady Zillabar,” hissed a servant-wasp, a thin creature with glistening multi-faceted eyes. Its voice had a chalky rasp. “Kernel d'Vashti sends his regards and hopes to meet with you upon your arrival downside. A Regency shuttlecraft waits at your disposal.” The wasp pointed toward a passage.

The Lady nodded her acknowledgment, but she made no move toward the landing vessel. Instead, she asked, “Take me to my quarters. I will rest first. And I have some personal business to attend to.”

The servant-wasp dipped its antennae apologetically. “I will arrange a suite immediately. We had not anticipated that you might wish to rest. Kernel d'Vashti assumed that you would prefer to land immediately.”