Title: Old Haunts, Book One, Chapter Two

Author: Auna

Rating: R for adult themes

Summary: Rescuing an old friend

Credits:  scrubschick, shipsister, and ScaperRed for a wonderful beta job.  Thank you for your ideas and thoughts and for countless readings.  If you have this partly memorized, I apologize.  Sanchez, for his creative input.  At one point, ScaperRed and Sanchez (neither of whom have met or spoken together in any form) were channeling each other.  It was getting kind of eerie, so I knew I had to bow to their genius.  And Sanchez practically co-wrote one segment, but I got my grubby paws on it and changed things around.  But we had fun, didn't we?

Author's Notes:  I have to dedicate this part to Sanchez.  There's something in here he's been trying to get me to include since the beginning, and I finally found a place for it.  Not quite what you suggested, but it's close enough.  And you're right, it WAS fun to work with.

CHAPTER TWO

He sat on a large boulder on a mountainside, overlooking a valley filled with black trees and purple grass.  His choppy brown hair was getting too long, and the breeze kept blowing it into his mouth and eyes.  Brennik sat next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her waist.

"How long do we have?" she asked in a contented voice, breaking the silence.

"Less than an arn."  He kissed her forehead before laying his head gently on top of hers.

She sighed and nodded, snuggling closer into his arms, and returned to listening to the gentle wind rush through the trees below.  Overhead, two birds gracefully danced around each other in the clear pink sky, playing a game known only to them.

Sethya closed his eyes and let her warmth and vitality pour into his soul, the peace of the moment absolute.  He would love her for as long as he could draw breath, and there was nothing he could, or wanted to do to change that.  And she was here, next to him.

Slowly, his free hand began to move of its own volition, reaching down to his leg and freeing his pulse pistol from its holster. His mind and heart screamed in protest, crying out to stop what was inevitable, but nothing changed.  The weapon seemed to fuse itself to his hand, and he watched in horror as the weapon was raised to the exact spot he'd just kissed.  His finger squeezed and the bright light of pulse fire exploded into her head.

Sethya jolted awake; hands shaking, his body drenched in sweat.  His mind was burned with the image of Brennik, as she lay in his arms, her face charred from direct fire.  His lips had kissed hers in death, and he could still taste the lifelessness.

He turned his head to look at his brother sleeping heavily in the bunk next to his.  Tean's wound had been sewn shut by his inexperienced hand, and he finally understood the uncertainty and horror Brennik had gone through when she'd put him back together.  Did he ever thank her properly?  Probably not, he'd been too busy pushing her away.

After he and the kid had boarded Shadow to find Tean collapsed in the Pilot's seat, they'd managed to get the man to his cramped quarters.  Once they'd taken off and gotten some distance between them and that planet, Sethya had painstakingly sewn shut the wound and applied medicine Noranti had given them before they'd left Moya.

Now all he could do was wait.  He hated waiting.

A sound at the door drew his attention, and he looked over to find the kid in the doorway, holding a forgotten cup in his hand as he watched Tean.  Sethya shook his head as he first sat and then soundlessly pulled himself out of the bed to his feet.  Motioning for the boy to follow, he slipped past him at the door and headed through the small corridor, his destination the food service room.

He didn't know how long they'd been in flight, or what the kid had been doing to occupy himself during all that time, but now was the time to find out.  He appreciated all the help the kid had been, but he had been clear about having an agenda.  It looked like the boy was going to have his chance, after all.

He led him to the small galley and sat in his usual chair, pointing at Tean's chair for the kid to sit in.  "All right, time to talk.  What's your name, what do you want from me, and why are you here?"

"My name is Sh… Laighn."

"All right, Shlane…"

"Laighn.  Just Lane."

"Laighn, then.  What are you doing here?"

"The same as you, surviving."

"Big picture, kid.  I don't have time for disseminating.  You hunted us down for a reason."

"It has come to my knowledge that my uncle has been sold as a slave, and is on his way to work the Jivihsten mines.  I need to get him out before he's killed."

"Even when Shadow was working, we were cargo runners.  What gave you the idea we would even consider a commission like this?"

"Among certain circles, your name is connected with the Amframiton Liberation, the Lokario Invasion and Ytjule Peace Title, all of which were commissioned for a fee.  Your cargo business is a front."

"Your sources were wrong."

"Forget my sources for a minute," he said waving his hand in dismissal.  Laighn leaned forward in his seat, pointing at the table to illustrate his point.  "This ship isn't big enough to transport cargo sizes large enough for the fees you generate."

"Sometimes it's not about quantity, kid, but quality."  Sethya leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest as he looked Laighn directly in the eyes.

"I need your help."

"You need a miracle.  Something like that would take weekens to plan.  The cost alone would cripple a large investor, let alone a runaway.  And any mercenary taking on such a commission would have to be in very good physical condition."

"I have money.  And I'm not a runaway, I'm nineteen cycles old."

Sethya raised one eyebrow to show his disbelief, but decided to pretend the boy was telling the truth.  "Klune would probably do it for you, although he can be pricey sometimes.  His men are well trained and he has the resources that would be needed."

"Klune… didn't you say that was the boss of those bounty hunters chasing us earlier?"

"Yes."

Laighn simply stared at him for microts, and he found himself wondering what he was thinking.  The boy's mouth opened and closed several times before he managed to say anything.  "You're recommending the business of a man who is trying to kill you?"

"You just said it.  It's business, Laighn.  He's trying to earn a crendar, just like everyone else in the universe."

"Except you."

"I've got a different agenda right now.  Listen kid; even if I was inclined to help you, and I'm not, Tean is too injured to handle anything like that.  Truthfully, I don't know how much longer he's going to be alive.  So at the next commerce planet, we'll let you off this ship and you can pursue your personal business."

"There's a diagnosan not far from here.  We're already in route.  He inflates his prices for those wanting to remain anonymous, but since you're so rich you don't need commissions, you can probably handle it."

"I'm a cargo runner, Laighn.  Not a mercenary."

"That's not what Zodora said."  Laighn was looking him in the eye.

Sethya didn't flinch.  He made sure not to blink.  This kid was good.  "Who?"

"Zodora, the man you pulled from the Nebari prison transport.  He sends his regards, by the way."

Dren.  Well, that still didn't change anything.  "I'm not going after your uncle."  For half a microt he thought about it.  Tean always scoffed at his weakness for those in need of help, but it was a flaw he'd never been able to purge.  He was lucky that very few people knew how soft he really was.

Laighn chose that moment to tilt his head sideways, staring at him intently.  The involuntary gesture reminded him of Chiana, which instantly reminded him of Brennik.  He'd been doing so well, too.  It had been sixty microts since he'd thought of her, or the fact that Scorpius probably had a retrieval squad after her right now.

Which reminded him of his meeting scheduled with Gweer at Dvut.  "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Thirty three arns."

"How far away is the diagnosan?"

"Four arns."

Frell.  He'd have to drop Tean off and go on to the rendezvous without him.  He didn't like that idea, he hadn't been anywhere without Tean in nearly three cycles.  It would be like chopping off his arm.  He also didn't like meeting Gweer without back-up.

It would take Tean a while to recover, but he couldn't infiltrate the command carrier and get the information without him.  And he needed that intel on the retrieval squad as soon as possible.  Although his brother wouldn't be strong enough to fight if needed, he'd still be able to work his technological magic.

They needed another set of able hands for defense if the fahrbot mission any hope of being successful.  A plan began forming in Sethya's mind and, though he didn't like it, the solution was presenting itself.  "How badly do you want to save your uncle?"

Laighn was smart enough to suddenly look worried.  The change of mind happened too quickly for him to believe that Sethya suddenly decided he could use the cash.  "Why?"

"I'll consider an exchange, a favor for a favor."  Seth expected the kid to ask what the favor was, but was surprised when he simply sat back in his chair and sighed, folding his arms over his chest in an imitation of Sethya.

"If that's what it takes.  Tell me when and where."

---------------------------------------------------

Gweer had not only gotten them the information and equipment they needed to infiltrate the command carrier, he'd managed to supply them with detailed reports on the Jivihsten mining operation, for an inflated price.  He was now waiting seven solar days to rendezvous with the three mercenaries on the command carrier.  Hopefully that was enough time for Tean to heal and for Sethya to fulfill his side of the bargain.

Which brought him to the situation at hand.  He was traveling in a primitive wagon, pulled by a beast of burden, with Laighn sitting beside him shackled in full restraints.  They were nearing a large wall that stretched for metras to either side.  Towers manned by armed guards were placed strategically at regular intervals.

The guards were armed with silver body armor on their chests, their heads covered with plumed silver helmets.  On their hips hung short skirts of deep green material, leaving their knees exposed.  On their feet they wore silver boots that covered their shins.

This should be easy, Sethya reflected.  Shoot out their knees.  A vision of the Black Knight in a movie Crichton had forced him to watch appeared before his eyes.  "It's a flesh wound."  I'm losing my mind.

"Hold it there," he was instructed by one of the guards.

He stopped the wagon and held the reigns loosely in his hands.  His pulse pistol lay in its holster, in plain view.  He glanced briefly at Laighn.  Good, the kid has his belt on.  It was probably going to get them out of this impossible situation.

"Greetings, from Emperor Thasniodian, I bring a present to your Elected."

The guard looked behind Sethya with keen interest to the exotic young man sitting quietly, staring straight ahead.  He was a beautiful boy, and fragile looking.  Just the way the boss liked them.  "Let me see your clearance."

Sethya pulled an ident chip, similar to the ones he had used as a PK, from a chain around his neck.  The soldier held up a small box and he slid the chip into the slot at the top.  Now was the time to see if Gweer was as useful as he claimed.

Everything slowed and the green and silver-clad soldier stared at the box for an infinite amount of time.  Laighn shifted slightly in his seat and Sethya nudged him.  Patience.  If they were going to be caught, he wanted the maximum amount of time to come up with a plan.

He scanned the area in apparent unconcern, taking in every detail.  There was nothing to help them in their retreat, if needed.  The forest behind them would afford them the only cover to avoid being shot, and that was half a metra away.  If that ident chip failed, they would either be killed or enslaved.  Given the options, he preferred dead.  Then he wouldn't be forced to think of Brennik and the crew of Moya being hunted by a retrieval squad with him incapable of helping.

"Go through the gate and tell the sentry you have been cleared, access code 46910.  He'll give you further instructions.  Your weapons will be turned in there."

"Yes sir," Sethya responded, flipping the reins and clicking his tongue.  The wagon lurched forward and they slowly approached the entrance.

A large wooden gate slowly lowered on two chains, bridging a massive moat filled with long, sharp spikes.  The sound of the beast's hooves klunked on the wood as they crossed and the animal slowed, instinctively hesitant.  When it lifted, there would be no way out.  Sethya didn't blame the animal, but urged him forward patiently.  Laighn remained silent, looking timid and frail.

So far everything was progressing according to plan.  This couldn't last much longer.

"Halt."

They halted.  They had barely passed the gate and were now in a courtyard.  The sight was staggering.  In the distance was a massive pit with thousands of holes interspersed along metras of spiraling roadway.  Countless green and silver guards stood watch over tens of thousands of slaves toiling in the dirt.  They looked like a colony of insects.  Every race Sethya had ever encountered, and many he didn't recognize, were represented among the workers.

The sight was abhorrent.  Laighn remained passive, even letting fear shine through his black eyes.  "Don't worry," Sethya said loud enough for the gate-guard's benefit.  "That won't be your fate."

The guard snickered.  "Access code," he demanded.  It was obvious he already knew what their purpose was, but Sethya responded for protocol's sake.

"46910."

"Both of you, out of the wagon," he ordered.  "Stand there, by the wall."  Sethya jumped down and turned to assist Laighn.  They walked to the wall and stood with their backs to the mortar.  Another guard joined them, a rifle held ready.  "Hand over all weapons, one at a time.  They will be held here for your departure."

Sethya made a show of reluctantly handing over his pistol, then reached into his boot and pulled out a knife.  He pulled a hand dart from one pouch on his belt, a set of brass knuckles from another pouch, a dagger from a sheath under his long jacket, and finally a mini-pistol from a pocket.

"That's a lot of weapons for one small boy," the guard remarked wryly.

"It's not the boy I'm worried about.  It's the people who desire him.  He is a particular favorite of Emperor Thasniodian, and I was instructed to deliver him undamaged."  Laighn managed to look alluring, emanating shy "come hither" eyes.  Sethya was impressed.  How did the kid manage it?

The guards stared at the hybrid for several microts, spellbound until the guard with the rifle cleared his throat.  Shaking his head as if to clear it, Rufus (as Sethya was beginning to think of the guard in charge, he reminded him too much of a cadet he was in training with) continued with the orientation and welcome ritual.  "Both of you will strip at this time.  Release the restraints of your… charge," he barked.

"Frell no," Sethya refused.  Rufus looked affronted and Sethya continued, delicately.  This was where things got tricky.  "Nobody touches or looks at the boy until I'm satisfied he is safely in the hands of the Elected.  I have searched him; he is hiding nothing.  I have been cooperative until now, but my patience is wearing thin.  And before you get any brilliant ideas, I am under the protection of my Emperor, and any damage inflicted on me, or my 'charge' will be considered an act of war.  I will strip for you, but the boy remains restrained and completely clothed."

"Entrance is denied, then.  Take your belongings and leave immediately."

Sethya lowered his voice and he saw Rufus lean in to hear better.  "Are you really sure you want to deny your Elected the boy here?  He knows his prize is here.  What do you think will happen to the underling that gets in the way?"

Rufus swallowed several times, looking trapped and torn.  Sethya could feel for the guard, he had been given a lose-lose scenario.  "Strip, then.  And be quick about it."

After Sethya submitted to a very thorough and public strip search, they were finally cleared to leave.  Sethya had to practically lift Laighn into the wagon, his leg restraints impeding his ability to climb in by himself.  Finally, they were settled.

"You are cleared to travel to the Home Building.  Keep following this path for three metras.  Stay on the road, and you'll find it easily enough.  If you stray off the road, we will not be held accountable to your government for any consequences."

"What's on the side of the road?" Sethya asked.

"Wyrms.  They'll swallow you whole and ingest you alive.  When your bones are stripped clean, they'll excrete them and leave them in the sun to dry.  When they get three days worth of sun poisoning, the monsters will grind them up and snort them.  It's a long and painful death, but it makes our lives a lot easier.  Before the Wyrms moved in, we had a rough time keeping the slaves in check.  Now they practically manage themselves."

Where was Gweer's intel on that little tidbit of trivia?  This could be a bad thing, or a good thing.  He wondered how quickly the Wyrms attacked once somebody fell into their territory.

Sethya, clicking his tongue, headed the wagon down the path indicated by the guard.  He was surprised no one escorted them, but he figured the Wyrms probably kept people from wandering too far astray.

They rode in silence for a half metra, Laighn keeping up the act of terrified, shy, boy siren.  When they were alone, the restraints dropped and he rubbed his gloved wrists.  "You had those on tight enough."

"It had to be convincing.  What if they'd checked?"

"Speaking of checking, that was a lot of fancy talking you did back there.  I'm impressed.  What would you have done if they had actually searched me?"

"Died fighting.  Do you still have everything?"

"I've got my whip, my boot knife, the stun tazer hidden in my hair, and that little clear packet you threw at me right before we left.  What is that, anyway?"

"A visual dampening cloak.  Once you break the seal, you have 400 microts that no one will see you.  After that, you are visible again."

"Drad!  Why haven't I ever heard of these before?"

"They're illegal.  And they have some side effects."

Laighn looked worried.  "What kind of side effects?"

"Nothing to worry about, just a little rash.  But only use it as a last resort."  A little rash, just like Peacekeepers are a little neurotic or Moya is a little bit big.  Well, it wouldn't kill him.  "I don't like this.  This plan is frelled."

"I can take care of myself.  Just be at the rendezvous spot at the right time."

"I'm not the one claiming I can escape an armed castle single handedly."

"Don't worry; I'll be there to fulfill my end of the bargain."  Nothing else needed to be said and they grew silent.

A large stone building appeared in the distance, so Laighn put the restraints back on, using Sethya's keys to double lock them.  The timid, alluring mask was back in place.

Home Building, Sethya presumed.  It was ten stories tall with towers and turrets decorating the roof.  Countless windows dotted the walls, surrounded by green vines growing against the mortar.

"You can get out of that?" he asked doubtfully.

The boy scanned the turrets and the massive building, as if sizing up an opponent.  "This'll be easier than I thought," he responded.

----------------------------------------------

You've GOT to be kidding me, Sethya thought to himself.  Before him stood an eight motra tall bipedal with brilliant orange knee length pants, no shirt, a snout for a nose and a huge fan of royal purple feathers accentuating his head.  He stood regal and dignified, and managed to look down his snout at Sethya and Laighn as if they were vermin he'd like to squish with his green, high-heeled boots.

"Greetings," Sethya started.  The man merely snorted in reply.  "My name is Sethya Miskaahl.  I bring a gift fro…"

"Access code," Featherman interrupted.

"46910," Sethya instantly responded, grateful he had a decent memory.

"Your quarters for your stay are in the east wing.  Do not leave it until summoned.  Dinner is at sunset, do not be late.  The Elected will meet with you after dinner.  Do not try to engage him in business until then."  Nothing like getting straight to the point.  "Follow me."

Obediently, the two followed him into the building.  Everything was grandiose and opulent.  The halls were massive, the decorations extending from floor to ceiling.  Imported flowers sat in multicolored vases on tables lined against the walls.

The corridors twisted in odd directions, turning in on themselves and backtracking occasionally.  If a person didn't know his way around, it would be impossible to navigate.  Which was probably the intent of the builders.

Eventually they found themselves in front of a small metal door.  Maybe it was regular size and perception was off because of the magnitude of the proportions of everything around it, but Sethya decided to be offended.  "What is this dren?  I am a royal courier of Emperor Thasniodian!  I will not be slighted by receiving the castoff quarters!"

"Apologies for the misunderstanding," Featherman replied insincerely, "But these are the best guest chambers we have for your species, I assure you.  Do not be deceived by the scale."

He opened the door with an impressive flourish and waved his arm to show the view.  The room was impressive.  It was beyond beautiful; it bordered on royalty.  One entire wall was glass, showing a view of water crashing over rocks down below.  The carpet was a thick, dark gray, and the bed adorned with the same color purple as their guide's feathers.  Comfortable chairs were scattered throughout and an opened side door showed a waste facility that used all golden attachments.

Sethya sniffed.  "If this dump is all you have, I guess it will have to suffice."

"Thank you sir," Featherman replied, bowing deep at the waste, somehow exuding a patronizing air.  "A guide will be here in three arns to escort you to the dining facilities.  If you have any needs until then, simply push the button near the door and a servant will assist you."

"Thank you, that will be all for now."  Sethya dismissed.  He received tremendous satisfaction at the perturbed look that appeared on servant's face before he left the room.

-----------------------------

Last meal.  The sun was setting on the horizon and orange and purple streaks melded together over the blue ocean of water below.  All of this could be seen through the glass wall in the conference room from the massive table at which Sethya and Laighn were sitting.  The room was devoid of light fixtures, the walls seeming to emanate just enough illumination to see with.

They were still waiting for the Elected.  Evidently, punctuality was not requisite for him.  The room itself, like the rest of the building, was massive.  The wooden table extended the length of it, decorated with the same flowers adorning the walls of the hallways.

They were not alone.  Sethya counted fifty chairs surrounding the table and they were slowly being filled by men and women of all species.  Everyone was dressed ornately, colorfully, and to Sethya's mind, ridiculously.  Didn't any of them realize they resembled a preening Paferg bird?  The waste of materials and resources turned his stomach.  He sat quietly, his usual scowl on his face.

It didn't matter, though.  He was being ignored.  All eyes strayed to Laighn sitting beside him in handcuffs and leg irons, timidly looking at his placemat in front of him.  The boy's eyes were downcast, his hands resting in his lap, shoulders trembling slightly.  Occasionally, he would glance up to meet the gaze of an admirer and his eyes would immediately evade prolonged contact.

"Do not over act the part," Sethya cautioned softly.

Laighn glanced at him with hurt eyes, only adding to the image and causing several onlookers to glare at him with reproachful stares for whatever he'd said to injure the innocent boy.  Everyone in the room was enthralled.  Some were better at hiding it than others, but everyone was under his spell.

Good.

The women on Laighn's right let her hand subtly stray to his knee, and then slowly slide upward.  Before her hand moved two denches, Sethya had her wrist locked between his fingers, squeezing softly to illustrate his point.  "He is for Netrijon," he announced, hoping to get the word around so there would be no more of this foolishness.  The woman's anger turned to fear and she pulled her arm away.

A low whisper traveled across the room, spreading the news of the Elected's newest toy.  Eyes were diverted, but they all held a trace of pity for Laighn and hostility for Sethya.  Or maybe he was imagining it.  Doubtful.

A horn, sounding like a sick Keedva, blared.  Instantly everyone in the room stood.  Sethya followed their example and put a hand under Laighn's arm to pull him to his feet.  The door, which had been open only microts ago flew open again, slamming against the walls with a crash.  In walked the infamous, and deadly, Elected.

He held the title of President of the company that owned the slaves, but had seized power ten cycles ago so ruthlessly, that the title was merely a vanity.  He was lord of this operation and ruled with absolute power.  He wasn't ungenerous to his employees.  Those that made it to his favored list were well taken care of.  But it didn't take much to fall off said list, and everyone catered his whims.

His dinner attire was as whimsical as those that had already arrived.  He wore pink pantaloons with white stockings underneath, a yellow frilly shirt, heeled white shoes with purple bows on them, and a long purple duster that matched the bows.  In his arms he carried a white ball of fur that was yapping with an intense ferocity.

Sethya had to engage all his training not to raise an eyebrow.  Instead, he smiled warmly, feeling his cheeks begin to crack with the unaccustomed effort.  This is for Brennik and her family.  Remember Brennik.  He was gritting his teeth so hard, his jaw began to ache.  Purposely, he relaxed and watched the show unfold around him.

"Hoorah!" shouted Netrijon, throwing his arms into the air and his head back, letting his long blonde hair flow across his back.  The yapping fur-ball was held in his right hand and began yelping in dismay.

The entire room of people suddenly produced white handkerchiefs and began waving them in the air.  "HOORAH!" they all shouted in unison, stomping their feet.  The sound was deafening.

Sethya, without moving his head or losing his smile, moved his eyes to Laighn.  The young hybrid still had on his terrified, innocent mask, but when his gaze connected with Sethya's, his eyes held the same horrified incredulity as the older man's.  This was ridiculous.

The Elected dropped his arms and instantly the silence was deafening.  There wasn't even the sound of anyone breathing.  Laighn chose that moment to sneeze and all eyes, including Netrijon's, turned to the two visitors.  The boy looked embarrassed, adding to his allure.

Sethya wanted to smack him.  It had been obviously planned.  With one small "involuntary" gesture, the kid managed to completely negate the President's grandiose entrance, focusing all the attention on himself.

"I- I- I'm s-s-sorry," he stammered softly with pleading eyes aimed directly at the President.  He dropped his gaze respectfully, and Netrijon's scowl softened with desire.

"We have guests tonight, I see.  We shall all endeavor to be on our best behavior."  He smiled graciously and the sigh of gratitude from the onlookers emphasized the intensity of the tension they lived with.

He waved his arm and Featherman appeared from a side room, wearing pink pantaloons that matched Netrijon's.  He pulled the end chair from the head of the table and the President delicately perched himself on the end of it, placing the now quiet ball of fur on the table.  Sethya wondered if the thing was still conscious after all the tossing around it had just endured.

Placing his hands flat on either side of his gold plate, the Elected breathed in deeply and looked at the faces sharing his table.  Forty-nine fake smiles shined back at him and he grinned in contentment.  "Let us eat!"

Large platters overflowing with colorful, fragrant food were being placed on the table by haggard looking servants.  More began to dish the food out, others filled glasses, several even dabbed a few faces with napkins.

One approached Sethya with a cloth, and as the servant wiped his face, he endured the humiliation with civility.  Brennik, John, Brennik, Aeric, Brennik, Moya, Brennik… he chanted in his mind.  Just a few more arns and this would all be some terrible memory, left to be forgotten.

The meal was a festive occasion with cheerful conversation and laughing interspersed with flirting.  Everyone seemed to be having a good time… including Laighn.  His mask of innocence was still in place, but the boy had now figured out his mark and was slowly seducing the Elected from across the room, without the man realizing what was happening.

Every mouthful of food brought to Laighn's grey lips was graceful, calculatedly seductive.  Netrijon could not look away, and every time Laighn seemed to enjoy a particular bite, he stared in wonder, his mouth moving slightly, imitating the boy's.  Their eyes would connect for microts at a time, and Laighn would always look away timidly.

This kid was better than good.  He was a master.

Dinner dragged on for an arn before the sick Keedva roared again.  It was now time to move to the Business Den.  Supporting Laighn with one hand, he herded the boy from the dining room, following the crowd.

-------------------------------------

Netrijon sat on a throne in the front of the large room, listening to endless business reports with calculation.  He may be vain, but he had a very sharp business sense, and no detail was too small for him to dissect if it seemed wrong.

Finally, it was Sethya's turn.  The Elected turned to him with hunger in his eyes, continuously letting his gaze slide to the boy.  "Sir," he said as he stood.  "I bring tidings from Emperor Thasniodian of the Fashtet Empire."

"I've never heard of them," Netrijon interrupted.

"That is not surprising, sir.  Our leaders have historically been known for their strict sense of privacy.  However, I'm sure if you checked your databanks, you will find any information you may require."

The Elected was intrigued.  He waved his hand and a servant appeared with a metal slate, holding it before his Master.  This was the final test.  All the planetary data they had invented was encoded in a virus on the ident chip originally scanned by the first guard they had approached.  By now, the information should have infiltrated the home base computers.

Sethya stood waiting, watching, as the man found the desired information and perused its contents with leisure.  He could tell the precise moment the man had absorbed all the pertinent information and satisfaction poured over him.  This frelling plan might just work after all.  Netrijon now knew that Sethya Miskaahl was the chief courtier of a planet with the armada and ability to decimate this entire compound with merely a cough.

"I see you come from a very advanced and noble world," Netrijon said with calculated diplomacy.  "To what do I owe this generous visit?"  His eyes managed to stay on Sethya, but there seemed to be an involuntary twitch to Laighn's direction that he was fighting.

"Your Esteemed Sir, I come with some embarrassment for my ruler.  It seems there has been a grievous error."

"And what might that be?"

"Empress Thasniodian has been somewhat aggrieved, and the Emperor has not had a moment's rest since this knowledge has come to light.  The Empress's lifelong mentor and teacher has been mistakenly sold to your compound as slave.  She wants him back."

"Impossible, I have no slaves.  I merely have devoted employees."

"The Emperor realizes the inconvenience this would mean for you.  He has sent me with adequate funds to compensate you for your monetary loss.  He also sends his favorite concubine as a gift to thank you for your time and patience."

Now was the time the President could survey Laighn without breaking protocol.  The desire burned in his eyes and he stared unabashedly at the quaking boy.  "This is highly unusual," he tried to bluff.  Everyone in the room knew that the deal had been sealed before the conference even began.  "How can I be sure of which employee you wish to take?  He might be irreplaceable."

"His identification number is H782DXV.  From our understanding, that means he is one of your mine workers.  Surely, one less would be nothing to a man with such vast resources as yourself."  Sethya wanted to vomit.  Did this guy really believe the drivel pouring out of his mouth?  Evidently he did, he smiled and preened a bit.

"You know quite a bit about our operation."

"I believe in being prepared."

"Well… you certainly seem to be that."  He looked at Laighn for a long moment, almost as if he were fighting an internal battle.  Laighn, looking at his boots, delicately licked his grey lips with the tip of a pink tongue.  The deal was cemented.  "I can understand the difficulty of an angry wife," he stated pompously.  "I feel sympathy for your ruler and will accept the recompense and gift for my loss."

"Thank you, President Netrijon.  I will tell them how gracious you have been."  Sethya bowed deep at the waist and was so thrilled the meeting was over, his smile was nearly genuine.

"You and the boy are invited to wait in your chambers until the funds have been forwarded to the company's account.  At that time, the employee you are seeking will be delivered to you and your charge will then be shown his new quarters."

Thrilled at not being forced to endure this pomposity for the rest of the evening, Sethya was graceful in his acceptance.  "That is acceptable, sir.  The funds will be in your account within the arn."

"I wait with anticipation."

I'm sure you do.  Especially since Laighn had taken to shifting subtly in his seat, as if unable to find a comfortable position.

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They were sitting quietly, facing each other in the darkness.  The room was not in total obscurity.  Moonlight from the two moons poured through the glass wall, throwing shadows over the bed and making every decorated bauble a distorted image of its true form.  But the illumination stopped halfway across the room, just shy of the two men enveloped in cushioned chairs.

They sat listening to the sound of the ocean pounding below.  The constant roar was dampened by the glass and the height of the building, but as the stillness deepened, the rush grew louder, consuming.  Small, less discernable slaps beating against the sharp boulders broke the constant sound into variations and an arrhythmic melody slowly played out in the union of the waves and the rocky beach.

The room was in perfect stillness.

Laighn's restraints lay in a heap on the floor next to his chair where he dropped them, easily accessible should the courier return unexpectedly.  The boy's funds should finish transferring soon, and this moment would end.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Sethya whispered, not wanting to break the spell cast around them.

Laighn nodded, the movement only perceptible as moving shadows.  "How much longer, do you think?"

"Was the money really there?"

"Yes, the money was real."

"Then I'd say any microt now."  Conversation was depleted.  Both sat further back in their chairs and let their minds wander to their own thoughts.  Sethya was impressed with the boy's patience.  It was rare to see such ability in one so young.  His trainer must have been very skilled.

A sharp rap on the door shattered the calmness.  Sethya stood and walked to the door, opening it only far enough for him to see Featherman, the messenger.  "What say you?"

"The funds have transferred, the employee waits in the den.  I am here to collect the boy."

He felt Laighn behind him and opened the door a little wider.  "Time to go to your new home, boy.  Don't disappoint the Elected, or embarrass Emperor Thasniodian."

"No sir," Laighn responded softly, head held low.  "I will not shame my master."

He slid past Sethya and meekly stood behind the escort, fully restrained.  The pompous messenger began walking away, tossing a careless "Your escort will be here shortly," over his shoulder as he led the way.

Laighn glanced at Sethya and winked, smiling mischievously.  Watching the young man follow the purple feathers, Sethya nearly felt sorry for Netrijon.  Nearly.

Another servant appeared before him and, without further instruction, he began following him through the endless corridors.  At last, he was in the Business Den where he'd first addressed the Elected.

Glancing around, Sethya could find no trace of anyone that looked like a relation to Laighn.  Had they been cheated?  Had their farce been discovered?  This was going to get messy in a few microts if it had.

The president sat in the same chair he'd occupied earlier, looking excited and giddy.  "There is your scholar, Sethya Miskaahl, just as requested.  If there is anything else my humble company can do for your Noble Emperor, please let us know."

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir.  I have not made the acquaintance of her Majesty's mentor as of yet.  Please bring him to me."

"He's directly behind you."

Sethya turned expectantly, to find a bedraggled grayish-green blob with bushy earbrows standing beside a guard that was holding him captive with a chain choker and a mouth wrap.  "This is a Hynerion," he stated flatly.

"Yes, we thought it odd that your majesty's mentor would be a Hynerion, especially one as delusional as this one seems to be.  He claims to be Dominar Rygel the XVI, dethroned.  Perhaps age has affected his thinking, and all his years spent at court are manifesting themselves in other ways."

"He's a Hynerion," he said again.  Laighn, half Nebari, half Sebacean, had a Hynerion uncle?  No.  Surely, the boy would have said something.

"That has been established."

"Are you sure there has been no mistake?"

"We were perplexed as well.  We have rechecked the manifests three times.  This is the individual you have requested."

The little green slug was standing with his back straight; managing to look down his non-existent nose at Sethya, who stood over three motras taller than him.  He mumbled something through his mouth guard, but the words were jumbled together.

"Remove the mouth guard," Sethya ordered.  There was only one way to find the truth, and Sethya was going to make sure he rescued the right person before he left.

The guard looked reluctant and the Elected frowned.  "I don't think you want to do that," he advised.  "He has not stopped his incessant jabbering since we've located him."

"I need to speak with him, to verify he is, in fact, the Empress's mentor."

Looking very unhappy, the guard sighed and pulled the mouth guard from the little Hynerion's mouth.  The slug smacked his lips a couple of times and adjusted his jaw with one hand, making the tiny chains holding them clatter as they moved.  At last, he stood straight once more and looked directly into Sethya's eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked brusquely.

"I am Sethya Miskaahl," he informed the small man.  If this were the wrong prisoner, they'd know in a microt.  "I come in the name of Empress Kit-Kat Thasniodian.  She misses her friend, Em-n-Em, and wishes for your safe return."  It sounded about as intelligent as one of Tean's codes, but Laighn swore his uncle would recognize it.

The Hynerion's demeanor completely changed from one of defiance to that of friend and confidant.  "Ahhh, but we all know that Reese's Pieces were always her favorite."  Holy dren, this was the man.  He was going to shoot Laighn when they met up again.

"Release this man, his freedom has been purchased."

The look on the guard's face was comically reluctant, but he reached over and unlocked the chains and neck choker keeping the Hynerion in place.  They fell to the floor with a loud clattering, and Rygel stepped over them with all the pomp and dignity of the Dominar he claimed to be.  Slowly he walked to Sethya and stood before him, leaning his head back to address him.

"Let's not keep the Empress waiting."

Sethya turned to the president, sitting high on his throne.  "Sir, I require my vehicle to be brought to the front, we will be leaving immediately."  Sethya stood tall next to the little Hynerion.

"It is late.  Are you sure you will not stay the night?"  Netrijon shifted in his seat impatiently, obviously uncaring if they stayed or not.

"I need to be going.  The Empress is anticipating his immediate return."

"Very well, then.  You will be escorted to the front.  I have enjoyed doing business with you."  The Elected's attention span was spent.  No more time would be wasted on these individuals.  He had more pressing matters waiting for him in his chambers.
Sethya tucked the little green blob under his arm and headed for the front door.  The sooner he got out of here, the better.  He moved three steps when a sharp, stabbing pain shot through his right side.  Instinctively, he dropped the Hynerion and grabbed his side, barely hearing the harsh thunk of Rygel hitting the floor.

His large eyes narrowed into slits and he pointed a short, stubby finger at Sethya.  "Don't you ever do that again!"  He turned to Netrijon, his tiny framed exuding a regality that dwarfed the pomp of the president, making him appear mere upstart.  "I came to this compound with a thronesled.  I demand its immediate return."

"It will be in your wagon when you arrive."

Rygel bowed his head slightly.  "That will do."  He turned and marched past Sethya, his ragged robes trailing on the floor behind him.  "Now we can go."  He held his head high and proud as he left the Business Den and waddled through the corridors.

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