Chapter Fourteen
A/N: well, another one down, and I have no idea just how long this story will be. That being said, it's nice to know that people actually like this story, and as such, I will continue to try and improve upon it. So, please, if you don't mind, leaving me a PM or a review would be greatly appreciated, be it on what you like, what you don't like, questions for the future or on the story itself, or even just a "great job, keep it up" kind of thing.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Syngra asked in the hangar bay. "You have been a Rogue Trader for nearly a year now, yet have not made yourself as known as most might, and already you are courting a governor. Not a member of the Imperial Navy, not some guardsmen or even a common agri-world peasant, but a governor, and might I add, the very same governor you are both indebted and allied to?"
"It's not a courtship, it's just a date," Solomon replied as he looked over the final details. Today was a big day, for both his crew and for the planet of Mastuonus Primus.
"From what you told me, dating is very much like courtship."
"It can be, but in this case, it's more along the lines of private meetings with the benefits of dinner," he replied. "I haven't had a home-cooked meal since I woke up, seeing as whatever they served at that party wasn't what I'd call "good" food, just expensive. Besides, that is what I plan on this being, a chance to discuss business over some good food. I don't intend on letting anything getting out of hand."
"If you are sure of this, and if you trust the governor, I see no reason why to continue attempting to dissuade you," Syngra muttered. "Still, I would recommend caution of the highest degree, captain."
"Delvidia already told me the dangers presented by people of power in the Imperium," Solomon said. "She was particularly adamant about watching out for the women, including Falmax and the likes of her."
"Then you should watch out for the governor as well, as she too is a woman in power within the Imperium," the Adept reminded him. "She too could very well be taking advantage of you, or come across the idea to do so later down the road."
"Why do you say that?"
"Solomon, when it comes to a lot of things, you happen to be either experienced or very wise, but in many other things, you remain woefully misguided or inexperienced. You have a knack for fiddling with technology, but have no real drive to train or discipline troops as they should be. Your tactics are not very sound, though how you wish to bring your weapons to bear is strangely efficient. You care for your troops and civilians in your care, yet most of us barely know you at all."
"I'd like to keep some secrets, especially if I feel they might endanger myself, the crew, or those in my care," Solomon replied carefully.
"Then I would advise you to do the same with Delvidia. Should she begin to ask you personal questions, the likes of which you feel not even your loyal crew should know, then do not tell her. It is simply a manner of being able to determine her trustworthiness."
Solomon sighed. "Syngra, trust me, I know what I'm doing. By all means, thank you for the advice, but this… this is something I must do on my own."
The Adept simply nodded, her mechandrites absentmindedly fiddling with one of the shuttle's stabilizers. "Then, shall we depart?"
"Yes," he replied, before motioning to the rest of those gathered before him, as they would not leave until he did. "Set course for the northern hemisphere of the planet. We have a funeral to attend to."
The cold of the spare cargo bay, combined with the vacuum created by the venting of the atmosphere, meant that the bodies inside of those that had died on Woebus were perfectly preserved. However, that being said, Prollarius had told Solomon of the folly of not cremating the dead, as ork spores could very well be within the corpses, waiting or already beginning to germinate. They had been lucky none of the refugees had carried with them ork spores, and that so far any traces of them had been gone.
So, with a heavy heart, Solomon knew that the men and women who had died under his care could not be buried as they were. With flamers and a quick mixture of napalm, the entire cargo bay was cleansed in fire after more atmosphere had been pumped into it, so much so that no ork spore could have survived the inferno.
When all was said and done, and the whole area re-burned just in case, all ashes of the fallen were gathered into great crates aboard the shuttles. With the uninjured survivors acting as the honor guard, Solomon descended upon the northern taiga and tundra of Mastuonus Primus.
There was not another single living soul for hundreds of miles. There was no point for the citizens of the world to try and farm this far north, and thus, it was completely quiet, with only the occasional bird to break the silence. In solitude from all else, surrounded by the occasional tree and grassy hill, the honor guard gathered, the crates containing the ashes of their fallen aligned with each regiment. None knew just how many had died, but the overall count, including those who had later died from their wounds, had amounted to around ten thousand total. For a force that had started off from Woebus with forty five thousand, losing nearly a quarter of your troops was not a good start.
Or, to Solomon, it wasn't. To anyone else, it seemed, it was an unfortunate start, but one that had ended in victory nonetheless. The troops overall were far more understanding and even willing to put up with these kinds of casualties, as fighting against the enemies of man was often an affair that measured death tolls in the millions or even billions.
"Men and women of the Imperium of Man!" Solomon called out from atop a small crate, his vox broadcasting far louder than normal. "Our braves comrades fell on the planet of Woebus, giving their lives for humanity and the for the glory of the Emperor! May their sacrifice always be remembered, and may we, the survivors, honor their sacrifice. Here, on their home world, we spread their ashes, so that they may rest. They have truly earned it."
With Solomon beginning first, the troops as one began to shovel the ashen remains out onto the ground with their entrenching tools, where others began to spread them out in neat rows, stretching for many, many yards in every direction. All were quiet as this continued: no word of comfort, no word of thanks or acknowledgement, only a humble silence to honor their fellows who had fallen in the line of duty. Many knew that they too, someday, maybe tomorrow or maybe twenty years from now, would meet the same fate. Yet, if it bothered them, they made no notion to indicate as such.
They had lived through the initiation, the maelstrom that had consumed so many of their fellows. They were now survivors, warriors proud and true, ready to fight and die totally for the Emperor and the Imperium. Their loyalty had grown out of resentment, and their eagerness had been tempered by experience and war. Their captain, too, was changed, from when they had sent out from this world for another. The fact that he was here, among them, personally spreading the ashes of those he had once commanded, meant more to them than all the medals, commendations, and money in the galaxy.
In time, they too would face death, but with their captain at their side, that did not worry them as much. The Emperor protects his children, and thus, dying for him was the greatest honor any of them could hope to achieve.
History is written by the victor, though in the grim darkness of the future, it was more likely the survivor that writes the history. Then, that history is often "corrected" through heavy-handed measures within the Adeptus Administratum, as well as through the hands of the Ecchlesiarchy and the Inquisition. Seeing as those last two were now either in complete upheaval or turmoil, following a certain declaration that no spam-box filter could block, only the utter bureaucracy of the Administratum remained to slow all manner of work, news and progress to a complete and grinding halt.
Billions upon billions of scribes worked across countless planets, filing paperwork and transcribing data as best they could. Entire worlds were used to grow forests, simply so that they could be harvested, pulped, and pounded down into paper for the scribes and clerical workers. Countless other worlds were simply massive warehouses, designed to function as filing cabinets to fit all of this documentation. There were even rumors that there were secret worlds containing significant, ancient or forbidden knowledge, though it was also rumored more of these had been lost to clerical errors than to the enemies of mankind. It wouldn't have been the first time either.
Deep within the dry and dusty halls of Paypyrkut Primus, a lone scribe sat at his little cubicle, carefully making duplicates of countless documents stacked high before him. Knowing full well that staying late to finish a quota meant he could become lost in the miles upon miles of corridors, like others before him, the small man worked as hard as he could at what he was given. He had known some scribes to go mad and become lost in the labyrinthine corridors, starving or committing suicide by paper cuts to the throat before anyone could find them.
One document came to his attention as he finished with duplicating the marriage license treaty for the women of Crenon. "Passage of title, Rogue Trader Ordacius, to Solomon," he read. Funny, none of the other forms on Ordacius that he had recently gone through mentioned any kin named "Solomon". In fact, judging from this paper, he was certain this "Solomon" had not paid his due to the title, nor had properly inherited said because of this. Having memorized every single rule in the library of his order, he knew exactly that such an oversight was liable to be paid in the Rogue Trader's ship and title.
Just as he reached for his stamp to declare this document forfeit, and pass it off for someone to pass off to authorities within the Adeptus Administratum to deal with, he sneezed from the accumulation of dust atop him. With a groan the stacks of paper in front of him, long-since precariously perched by uncaring servitors, came tumbling down on the man. With a muffled shriek, he was buried by countless forms and paperwork, the weight of them crushing him in a matter of seconds.
The paper he had held floated to the cubicle next to his own, the resident not looking up from his rapid stamping of forms, having long ago replaced his aching, frail arm with a mechanical one that could do the job tirelessly. The man, named Dunflin, just wanted to get home that day after exceeding his quota, just to stick it to that asshole Dweut a few rows down, so when the form floated down in front of him, he simply stamped it as "accepted" and passed it on. He wasn't paid shit for accuracy, what meager compensation he received was for total papers approved. Behind him, several servitors came by and began to retrieve the papers from atop the now-dead scribe, intent on filing them to his replacement as soon as possible.
"Well, how do I look?"
Syngra was not entirely sure how to respond to that question. She had always thought the captain looked fairly nice, though some of that might have been his willingness to adorn himself with functional yet removable pieces of tech, like his wrist-mounted chronometer and miniature vox broadcaster. The suit was finely made, though likely similar to the one he had worn to the party he had been a part of. There was no armor, no visible sidearm, and for once, he'd combed his mop of hair into some semblance of order.
"Functional," she replied.
"Functional?"
"I do not see why the governor would be averse to continuing your courtships if you show up as you appear."
"Dammit Syngra, I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, a date isn't always about that!"
"You have told me precisely one hundred thirty eight times."
Solomon blinked. Did… did she just make a joke? He hadn't heard one little quip like that out of her during their time together, despite all the opportunities for it. Here he'd just thought she was simply being loyal, but apparently she thought this too good of an opportunity to pass up. After all, he knew he looked good, but seeing as he couldn't ask Prollarius, as he had no experience with nobility like this, or ask Pontius, as the man didn't even have eyeballs, it fell to Syngra to be his choice. Right now, though… he wasn't sure that decision had been the right one.
"Captain, I must say that despite your inherent need to ask the opinion of others, you've done quite well for yourself," the Adept continued. "The suit is very nice, and I am sure the governor will be very pleased to your state of dress. However, looks are one thing, and what you will discuss with her will be another. So, take this."
What is it?" he asked, accepting a small box from one of the techpriestess's mechandrites.
"It is a recording device, so that we can go over what you two speak of in order to see if she is truly trying to ensnare you for some unknown reason."
"You want to eavesdrop on my date?" Solomon asked as he pocketed the device. "Syngra, I didn't know you cared so much."
"I do care, as does Prollarius and the other officers," she replied. "It was his idea anyway. Better to keep an eye on your supposed friends rather than blindly trust them."
Well, he'd have to at least keep that in mind with his crew, if things ever began taking a turn for the worse. "Is everyone in this galaxy as cynical as you?"
"No, I am far more trusting than most. I faithfully and wholly followed you into mutual tech heresy, have I not?"
"Syngra, there's no need to feel bad about that. Coming up with newer and better technology to make humanity safer and improve our way of living is nothing to be ashamed of." He paused for a moment. "Any more than eavesdropping on your captain's first date, anyways."
"Prollarius hoped you would not be too upset. On top of determining what was discussed, as well as listening out for anything unusual, the officers on board the ship currently have a betting pool as to the outcome of your first date." She paused. "I believe Prollarius has bet you will kiss her."
Solomon arched an eyebrow. That sneaky son of a… "…does this device record anything other than audio?"
"With the recording device implanted, it is capable of reconstructing a three dimensional scene in a two dimensional setting."
"Syngra…"
"Yes, it can record video as well, though it can reconstruct the majority of a scene merely by the ambient sounds detected by the device's auditory receptors."
"How much is being wagered on this first date?"
"A bit, though some of the officers are betting on more… salacious outcomes."
Well… that was unexpected. "What about you, Syngra? Are you in on this, or just a messenger?"
"It would be very unscrupulous of me to be the one who keeps track and tallies all wagers, as well as the one to give you the device that would determine what exactly happens," she said. "However… it would be very good for a certain someone if you were to, at the greatest extent, refrain from exchanging bodily fluids of any kind. Simply holding hands can be very rewarding."
Despite this news that his personal life now was attached to some kind of no-longer secret gambling ring amongst his officers, Solomon smiled. "It would also be good for another someone to get in on that bet, but in secret, and thus split the winnings fairly."
Syngra's mechandrites suddenly stilled their ceaseless motioning, as if in shock. "How… how much would this person like?" Her expression betrayed the realization that she may have pushed her luck too far.
"Oh, only around twenty percent, I don't need all that much," the captain said with a grin as he made towards his shuttle. "Thank you, Syngra, I will heed your warning."
As the shuttle left the hangar, the Adept let out a sigh of relief. There was a lot of money riding on this, but now she had an ace in the hole. Solomon liked her, a lot more than he did his other officers, perhaps because the two of them got along so well and confided in one another readily. Still, more money could be made if she could bring some more reluctant officers into the betting pool.
She wouldn't ask Pontius to bet, though. Psykers could, under certain circumstances, predict the future. Though… asking him now, before anything happened, couldn't hurt…
On the surface of Holy Terra, two Terran PDF troopers stood idly by in their barracks. They had heard nothing of what had happened many months before, of what they helped to find deep within Terra's most holy bowels. Then again, their duty was to protect and help police Terra, not ask too many questions.
"Hey, Nothingus?" one asked.
"Yeah?" the other replied.
"You think we're somehow important in the grand scheme of things?"
"In all honesty, I doubt it."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
So they went on with their lives.
The crisp air of evening greeted Solomon as he was escorted by the governor's honor guard through the palace gardens. Many of the servants he had formerly seen hustling and bustling about were out of sight, likely on orders to be seen as little as possible. Then again, if they weren't around, there would be much less gossip, and thus much less information for others to pay for. He had no doubt that at least a few were reporting to other houses of nobility, including that Madam Falmax.
The fact that society was filled with people like her, those who would do anything to gain power for themselves of for their children, frankly, sickened him. He knew such politics were nothing new, not even in his time, but… surely people would learned by now that this kind of society never held together for very long, right? Eventually, the mandate that they have over the ruling classes is challenged or outright removed, and soon enough, they are replaced by those with the backing of the common folk, or someone within the military, or some spiritual leader, or even those with enough money to secure themselves in the same sort of cycle. He could remember it had happened plenty of times from his own history, and even before that.
Wow, people never really did learn from history, and were always doomed to repeat it, huh?
"Figures," he muttered, as the honor guard led him to a door he hadn't noticed in his previous meetings with the governor. Opening it, and stepping inside, Solomon found himself alone. The room, while likely very rich, was also… fairly sparse, though if it wasn't a well-used room, there'd be little use in stuffing it with things to show off. The few decorations that lined the walls seemed historical in nature, likely artifacts of Delvidia's family line. There was an old lasgun, highly battle-damaged and likely no longer functioning, a banner of an Imperial Guard regiment likely long since eradicated in some forgotten war on some distant planet, and here and there hung what likely counted as personal portraits and paintings in this day and age. From the positioning, they all clearly had some significance, but exactly what, Solomon didn't know. He'd have to ask some time.
Quietly standing by himself at the only table in the room, he did not have to wait long for the governor to arrive. News of his own arrival must have been passed on fairly quickly.
She was… well, the fact that she wore less jewelry and far less makeup, yet was somehow even more stunning than during the great banquet days before, was truly something to behold. Her red hair was matched by an even redder dress, which hugged her body in all the right places, accentuating every curve just right. Not very low cut, but that was fine, as the small pendant she wore was likely her family's crest, and the slits along the side of the dress were visible even from where he sat. Her hair was done fairly simply, akin to some sort of bun, and as the jeweled pins holding it together shimmered in the low light, he had a feeling she'd spent a long time in front of a mirror getting ready. Though, he wouldn't have exactly called it a bun, as several trails of silken hair fell from the very back of it.
Her smile, however, seemed to light up the whole room, a genuine one that seemed to reach right to her green eyes, and in the back of his mind, Solomon swore he could have heard an appreciative whistle. Was Adam watching him now? "Good evening, Miss Warmak," he said, giving a small bow.
"Good evening, Solomon," she said, offering him her hand. "You look very nice tonight."
He gently kissed it. "I would say the same thing about you, but then I might not be doing such a compliment justice." He didn't know where all of this bravado and courage came from, but then again, from what he could remember he had been a very shy man in his previous life. Now, though, in this future, he couldn't afford to be shy, and so far, things had been going well for him in being such.
That, or Adam was subtly doing something to him. Or was it Eve?
"That is very kind of you," Delvidia replied. "But please, tonight, just "Delvidia" is fine. Madam Warmak is my mother, and right now, I do believe this date is between us, not you and her."
"No, of course," Solomon muttered, gently helping her to her seat before taking his own. In an instant, three servants sprang out of a nearby potted plant, placed two golden goblets on the table, and poured the two of them some fine wine before seemingly vanishing into midair.
Solomon blinked. That had taken all of ten seconds. Man, these guys were good. "So, do we have a menu tonight, Delvidia?"
"Well, for tonight, my kitchens have told me we are having steamed Crenonian rootcorn, a side of Wharan fruitshoots, and a special dish, Mastuonus Tertius wild harriva."
"What's a harriva?"
"It is similar to a hoofed mammal, only native to Mastuonus Tertius, and very hard to harvest. It lives in forests of the far north, in both insect-ridden summers and bitter winter cold, and as such is very hardy. The hard part is not killing one, which can be a challenge, but protecting your kill from the five types of carnivores that will swarm the kill the minute they hear its death cry."
"Does anyone else eat them other than nobility?"
"Most nobility actually do not," Delvidia said simply. "It was introduced to my family when my ancestors came to this world, as they picked up a few bodyguards there to protect them from this world's then-nobility. Suffice to say, some of the traditions intermingled, and I grew up eating it. On our world, the wild animals of the far north are often too few or too difficult for the common man to hunt, and why hunt when you have readily-available food to raise or buy yourself?"
"Hunting can be good," Solomon said.
"Yes, it can be, but the prey you hunt can vary greatly," she replied. "Anyways, the harriva has been slow cooking for almost one full day now, so it should be tender."
"Does it really take that long to cook it?"
"Only if you want to make sure it is very succulent. It has a tendency to be "dry" to those who have not tried it before, so cooking it low and slow is the best means to do it for "newcomers" such as yourself," Delvidia replied, taking a sip of her wine.
Solomon was pleasantly surprised that the wine was the same from the party. "So, Delvidia, what do you wish to discuss before our dinner arrives?"
"Oh, some things here or there," she said. "Tell me, Solomon, how goes your time as a Rogue Trader? Is it all I've heard it to be?"
"Oh, not too bad, if you could call fighting against orks and helping to relocate refugees not "too" bad," he said. "Speaking of which, are there by chance any communities willing to take them in? I have several thousand who don't seem to want to settle down on the base I'm building on Talmanjir, and most of the planets within a large area don't seem like the right kind to just drop them off on."
"I will have to look, but if arriving in different groups, I am sure I could fit them in nicely," Delvidia said. "They would, of course, have to go through the immunization and naturalization process. Do they speak Low Gothic?"
"Yes, they speak it just as well as any of us," he said. "By the way, thanks for understanding me speaking that as well. I'm not terribly good at High Gothic, despite all of the codices I've read. Are you, by chance, fluent in it?"
"Certainly, most nobility are fluent in High Gothic, though we more use it for business or to discuss private matters. I could help you learn to speak it fluently, should you consistently stay in the system long enough for lessons. Using it in public on certain worlds, from what I have heard, can be… problematic."
"Problematic as in, the nobility are not liked by the common folk?"
"Very much so, yes," she said. "The personal defense forces of worlds are as often used to defend the world against invaders as they are the nobility against the populace. We on Mastuonus and nearby worlds have been fairly lucky so far, being so remote in the Imperium. Those closer to the front lines of war, or to the corrupting influence of traitors and heretics, are not so fortunate."
"Traitors and heretics, eh? Can't say I've met many of those," Solomon said, taking another sip of his wine. "I mean, some traitor space marines stormed my ship before I became captain, but other than that… I've only fought orks." That daemonette back on Talmanjir, summoned by those cultists… he wanted to forget that. It's haunting beauty and utter savagery still twisted and twirled in his dreams, and likely would for a long time.
"But let us not talk war," Delvidia said simply. "There is time for that elsewhere, not tonight. What about you? For being in an alliance, I'm afraid I don't know much about you at all."
"Nor I about you," he replied. "What say a trade? You or I ask a question, and we both answer if possible. If one wishes to know more, they ask as much."
"Sure, I'll go first. Favorite color? Mine is scarlet, but if my dress is anything to go by, you probably knew that."
"I personally like aquamarine. Okay, my turn. What is the longest time you've ever been away from home?"
"Two months, when I was younger. It was a retreat to the more northern estates, to try and learn to live in semi-hardship, to toughen us up for life in politics. I'll admit, it wasn't terribly fun, nor was it easy, but I do appreciate my mother sending me there when she did. Yourself?"
"Well, seeing as my ship is more or less my home, I'd say a few weeks at the most, though I suppose that will eventually change. I have no idea just how long future fights I'm in could take."
"Okay then, biggest mistake you've made? Outside of, say, war?"
"Oh, where do I begin? I'd say rushing in with transporting a bunch of hivers to my moon base to help build it up. Let's say some were… troublesome, to put it lightly. What about you?"
"There was this big scuffle between two noble families a few years ago over inheritance of some northern fields," Delvidia said. "I wasn't governor for very long at the time, so I thought I could simply order them to behave. By the Emperor, I was wrong. The two waged this secret war for over five years before I caught wind of it. In the end, let's just say that inheritance isn't something those two need to worry about."
"Why is that?"
"They eke out a living on Mastuonus Tertius now amongst the tribes there. I confiscated their titles, citizenship and wealth, and then unceremoniously deported them."
"Seems a little… harsh."
"Judging from the effects of their shadow war, I'd say they got off lightly, what with the damage they caused," the governor said as a door opened. With a pair of trays laden with food, two servants quickly set them in front of the pair, and slipped away as silently as they had arrived.
"Wow, this looks delicious," Solomon said, simply salivating as the scent of the food entered his nose. Even in the officer's mess, he'd been eating either formerly-frozen meat paste or a bunch of ration cubes that had the texture of really shitty granola.
"It really is," Delvidia said, as she took a small bite of what looked like a vegetable. "Now then, did you have any siblings?"
"Two sisters. Yourself?" He could not yet remember their names, but at least he had their faces in his dreams, along with countless others. Just… why could he only remember their faces, not any of their names? Day by day, week by week, memories and knowledge returned to him, but the names remained elusive.
"I am an only child, or at least, the only one to survive to adulthood. My younger brother died from complications related to a surgery on one of his organs, and my sister died from complications at birth."
"I am sorry to hear that." Wow, this… what was it called again? Rootcorn? It went really good with the harriva meat. He'd been meaning to get the aquaponic gardens and terrariums back up and running in the Terra's Scion again, but more pressing matters had meant fixing them up was now "non-essential", as his quartermasters had put it. That, and they had been converted to some weird storage area, filled with crap from Ordacius that nobody knew the purpose of.
"It is fine, I was very young when it happened, and truly too young to really understand it. Now, though… perhaps my life would have been different with siblings. It certainly would have been more exciting."
"Perhaps, but then again, it's out of our hands. Luck, destiny, the will of the Emperor, whatever you want to call it, there's pretty little we can do about any of it." Solomon paused, enjoying the texture of his meal. "Say, now, how has the harvest and production been with those vehicles?"
"Oh, the newer ones? Very well, we haven't had a harvest this good in years," she replied between sips of her wine. "Come to think of it, my aides had told me this year might have been completely ordinary, yet those machines of yours greatly increased productivity. Though, I must admit, some of the more… physical laborers were not too happy at first."
"Fear of being replaced by the machines that are more efficient than them?" Wow, if memory served that same thing would likely be the case with the weapons on his ship, once he switched them from pulley systems to mechanical loaders and targeting systems.
Seriously, goddamn ropes and pulleys? This was supposed to be the future, not some ridiculous medieval caricature with lasers.
"Precisely. Thankfully, I needed people to work the machines themselves, so they were trained in that. Plus, now they not only have their original job, to a degree, but are overall healthier for it. Now, what about you? What of your new machines?"
"Well, I'm still trying to figure them all out. The problems with power output, traction and firepower are the biggest concerns with my ground vehicles, and I haven't really found a solution to them yet. Also, my attack craft have good pilots, but we've yet to use them against real enemies." He paused to sip his own wine. "I don't look forward to fighting too soon, I need to recuperate or I'll run out of troops."
"Seems like a good plan, though some in the Imperium might see you as overly cautious."
"Better to be overly cautious and a threat to the enemy rather than overly dead and having accomplished nothing of note." Solomon knew that Delvidia had an inkling as to the origins of his technical achievements, but felt now was not a good time to discuss that. "So, Delvidia, have you ever been off of Mastuonus Primus before?"
"No, I have never left my homeworld. All business with the Imperium and other worlds has been done within my palace, and anything on this world can be done within a short distance of it as well. We're not a very populous world, and as such, news can travel to all very quickly. What of you? How many worlds have you been to?"
"Well, not including my home and my moon base, I'd say two so far," Solomon said. "I've been in orbit around a few others, but never set foot on them. By the way, my compliments to the chef, just so I don't forget."
"I will let him know, thank you. Okay, next question: have you, Solomon, ever been in a relationship before?" Delvidia asked, leaning forward, the cut of her dress suddenly far more revealing than before. The swell of her breasts was somehow larger than before, but then again, he had forced himself to not pay attention to… them.
His suit suddenly felt ten degrees warmer, and it wasn't from the heat of his food making him hot. "Um… no, no, I can't say I haven't," he muttered, resting an arm on the table. "I don't see it as fair to be in a relationship with someone on board my ship, especially an officer. She could be used against me in a mutiny, and besides, it's rather unprofessional to date within the ranks. I wouldn't want to be accused of favoritism if I promoted her above someone else, or kept her from doing certain tasks. Some "accident" could befall her, and I'd end up making too many enemies trying to find out who did it."
"So, you're into women?"
"Yes, of course. Did I send some mixed signals to anyone?" He hadn't felt any inkling from the crew that they were attracted to him, but then again, he hadn't been looking.
"Oh, no, just wondering. You're a bit of a recluse, captain, but then again I understand most captains usually are. It's a lonely life at the top."
"Well, along with that, why be in a relationship with someone on a world I rarely visit? Even if I did visit as often as possible, because of warp time, I might not see them for weeks or months on end, while for me it's been only hours or days. That is one serious disconnect between our lives. Besides, I'd worry about them all the time, and I don't think I can afford to worry if I have to be in charge of an army fighting against the enemies of man. How is that in any way fair to them or my troops?"
"I agree, it wouldn't be ideal," Delvidia said, her fingers nimbly intertwining with his resting ones. "However, there are those that would likely be willing to make such accommodations. Some might even be willing to travel with you, should their old life be no longer available."
"Um… there are? I was told many captains will take mistresses with them on their ships, especially for longer voyages, and that most people in power tend to be so unless they die or are relieved by someone else."
"Are you such a man, Solomon? Would you take a mistress, or be willing to be replaced?"
"Well, no, it'd go against my nature. I have too much to do to focus on a lot of smaller things like that. Besides, biologically speaking, having as many children passing on your genes is the best way to live in this day and age, what with all the wars being fough gobbling up the Imperium's citizens left and right, but… what's the point?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why have as many children as you can if you don't pass on more than your genes? Your ideas, your ideals, your ethos, the memory of yourself… that matters more to me than any amount of children I could have. So long as any I have live to have more, and carry on a legacy, a memory of me, then that's fine by me."
"That's… odd."
"Odd?"
"Well, yes, odd, but I wouldn't say the bad kind of odd," the governor said, leaning a bit closer. Almost against his will, Solomon did as well. "More like the… different kind of odd."
"Is… is our alliance odd?" Damn, he told himself he'd keep this date professional, and now loot what was happening. Seriously, were Adam or Eve doing something to him?
"Yes, but the good kind. Just like you, Solomon. You're an odd one, but… I must say, I like that in you. Your difference makes you all the more charming."
Her green eyes glimmered in the light, her ruby red lips getting closer and closer, outshone only by her gorgeous hair. Solomon was tempted to close his eyes, but did not want to miss this-,
Suddenly, and without warning the pair were thrown to the floor by a massive rumble that seemed to reverberate through the entire palace, and soon afterwards, another followed it, this like that of an explosion. High above, part of the ceiling literally vaporized into nothing, ashen remains of solid marble flittering down, and above in the sky, small ships of dark and foreign design flew overhead, spewing countless streams of energy against a backdrop of the rays of a setting sun. If not for the fact that it would have been strangely beautiful, it was outright terrifying.
Mastuonus Primus was under attack, and his date had been suddenly and most unwelcomingly ended. His food was now covered in dust and debris, his wine spilled over the floor, his date may have been injured, and with a sneaking suspicion he would not be getting some highly-anticipated dessert anytime soon, Solomon could only think of one thing to say.
"Son of a bitch!"