D. A. Houdek

Deb Houdek Rule

Web designer - Science Fiction author - Civil War historian - Genealogy researcher

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Of All the Western Stars

by Deb Houdek Rule

Chapter 26

Aureala stretched and mrowed softly as the first light crested the Rindler Mountains. She walked slowly up Ashur’s chest, lowering her sleek head down to nuzzle his chin, rubbing her silky head against him. Without fully wakening, Ashur smiled and reached to stroke her. In response she sank down full length upon him, kneading him with her paws. Aureala’s purr rose and fell in a steady, happy drone.

The room noticed the changes in its master’s status, measuring his respiration and level of sleep. It responded by thoughtfully darkening the windows, filtering out some of the early morning sunlight striking them. It also added invigorating ions to the air mix, increased the oxygen level marginally, and added light, refreshing scents to the air.

Gradually, pleasantly, Ashur woke. Ashur gave Aureala a last affectionate stroke as he moved her off of him and got out of bed. She closed her eyes to slits and rubbed her face against his hand. Then she circled twice on the bed, curled herself into a featureless black donut of fur, and returned to sleep.

Once cleaned and dressed, his skin tingling from the infrasonic massage, Ashur left his suite, taking a private lift up to the garden level of the towering complex. He nodded at his mother as he stepped into the sunny atrium. She returned his nod distractedly then continued her unheard conversation with the air. Ashur ignored it. He was well used to his mother taking shielded calls at all hours, even those that were theoretically reserved for private family time. Ashur crossed the polished floor, through the carefully positioned potted plants, to the table upon which breakfast waited. He sat down, sipped the coffee, and set it back down with an grimace of distaste. A synthetic substitute that promised the taste of genuine Terrestrial coffee with none of the adverse effects, it was a pitiful imitation of the original. At his quietly spoken command the table obediently removed the offending liquid, replacing it with genuine Terran orange juice, the taste of which, along with coffee, he’d become fond of on his last trip to Earth. Ah… that was better. Both the fruit and the juice from which it came had been processed to remove any trace of impurities or contaminants, then held in unchanging stasis at their moment of perfection for shipment here.

Leaning back comfortably, Ashur watched his mother pace, her expression ranging from intense and worried to devious. There must be something important going on for her to take so much time out of their breakfast hour. Indeed, something significant must be occurring for Mother was dressed in high ceremonial fashion today. She wore a floating gown of multiple iridescent shades of blue and rose. A randomizer added faint swirls of contrasting mists to the outfit, sometimes curling them upwards into her elaborate hair sculpture.

Ashur studied her appreciatively. Mother looked every bit the Empress of the United Worlds that she was and far younger than her sixty years, appearing scarcely older than Ashur himself. Slowly, Ashur began to eat from the array of foods, wondering where his father and Barton were. As if reading his mind, Mother glided up to the table, bent to kiss him and said, "Your father and brother have already eaten and gone. Strange things are about this morning."

"Indeed?" She’d tell him what she wished and no more, regardless of his questions. It was a lesson he’d learned young.

Mother sat and toyed distractedly with a pastry. "We were contacted by the Capellan government…"

"The Capellans?" Ashur straightened up abruptly. The Capellans were sworn enemies of their Empire. Their raiders caused havoc among the more remote, colonial worlds and had even dared strike into their seven core worlds. Mother’s forces were hard-pressed to keep them at bay when they had all the vastness of space in which to hide.

"The Capellans," Mother repeated. "They contacted us early this morning… They want to meet. Emissaries are to be arriving today. They want to sue for peace."

Ashur stared at her. "I don’t believe them," he said flatly.

Mother pursed her lips and stared at the mountains in the distance. "It may be a ruse, a Trojan horse…"

"Exactly!"

"…or it may be legitimate. Our counterstrikes have done considerable damage to them. In either case we must meet with them to find out."

"But…"

Mother held her hand up, silencing Ashur’s protest. "I know. That’s why I have a special assignment for you today." She sighed. "Mistrust is a regrettable necessity. Your brother, as eldest son, and your father must be visible at the ceremonies. But you… Forgive me, son…"

"I understand," he told her hastily. As a mere second son, he could pass more or less unnoticed among the fringes of the formal events, listening to conversations not meant for the ruler’s ears, standing ready to act in his family’s defense if need be, and of course be the more ‘disposable’ of the two sons.

She smiled her professionally warm and encouraging smile at him. A low chime sounded. Calling for the privacy shield, a muffling silence fell over her, cutting her voice off from Ashur’s hearing. Mother wore an anxious expression during the call. She frowned when it was over.

"Sometimes that which is necessary can be a bitter thing," she said. "I trust you to do what you must, without letting your heart or emotions get in the way. Go to the port and get your ship. Move it to that house you keep at the edge of Penrose City." She smiled at his bemused expression. "Yes, dear. I know about that place, and appreciate your discretion with your young ladies. Mustn’t show public favor amongst them until we’ve chosen the one you are to marry. I’ve kept mention of your house out of the official databases and squelched surveillance on it should just such a need arise. It’s unlikely that the Capellan spies know of it. So take your ship there and conceal it…"

"You fear for the space port?"

She shrugged. "High ground is a powerful position. Repelling an attack from space is nearly impossible and we’re going to have to allow their ships into orbit. The space port is the first logical target and, despite our defenses, it’s vulnerable. This palace is a likely second target, especially with all of us in residence right now. So having your ship ready in an unlikely location may be of help… if things go badly. You should know, I’ve had it loaded with a special weapon." Ashur glanced at her sharply but her expression remained neutral. "Yes, you know the one. Obviously it’s never been tested, but if it comes to it… Use it."

So perfect a day couldn’t possibly hold anything evil, Ashur thought as he took the tube to the port. Even anonymously clothed in a plain, tan tunic, everyone — attractive young ladies in particular — recognized him and gave polite deference with nods and bows, then maintained a respectful distance, though he could often feel their covert glances in his direction. An especially fetching bronze colored woman with long spiraling hair in kaleidoscopic hues met his eyes, hers holding obvious invitation. Ashur studied her distractedly. The woman’s face was painted with an abstract pattern, a stylized representation of the nebula, and she was clothed only in often-transparent wisps of colored mist generated by a thin band of gold around her waist. Ashur smiled at her non-committally. She was gorgeous, true, but… When had he grown weary of these painted, polished, perfect women with their easy sophistication and blunt offerings? He longed for… he didn’t quite know. Something he’d never had, something fresh, something innocent…

A log shifted in the fireplace sending a shower of sparks and embers flying against the blackened bricks. Lisette nibbled at the last bite of good beef, and stared into the ebbing flames. She knew not what to say, to think, to believe. The man’s mind must be addled, the logical part of her insisted. His tale was too fantastical and unlikely for even the wildest of imaginations, yet here he sat telling it to her as though he truly believed it. A tiny portion of her heart spoke enticingly to her and believed him too.

Silence filled the chamber for several minutes, broken only by the quiet crackling of the fire. After several tries, Lisette managed to whisper, "Speak you truly of these things, these wonders?"

Ashur laid down the slice of toasted cheese, drank the last of the hot wine. Looking directly at her, his eyes probed deeply into hers as he answered, "I will not lie to you, Lisette. That I promise."

She searched his face, trying to find the portal into his soul that would let her measure his nature and the truth of his words. "I want to believe what you say," she ventured.

"That’s a start," he said, his voice low and rich, compelling her to believe.

Slowly, Ashur rose from his chair and moved behind Lisette. She remained frozen in place, arms clutched over her chest in the cooling water. There were no more suds with which to cover herself. He knelt behind her and she felt his hot breath whispering against her neck. Without her willing it her flesh reacted to his nearness, a tremor passing through her body.

Ashur’s hands didn’t touch her skin, she might have burst if he had, but she felt him lift one of her long braids. Slowly, silently, he undid the plaiting, spreading the mass of freed hair across her shoulder. When the first was done he did the same with the other until Lisette was clothed in a cape of wavy brown hair.

Then he stood, moving back until she could see him again out of the corner of her eye. His gaze was fixed on her, intense and enigmatic. How strange was this man in so many ways.

Softly he said, as if to himself, "So often I’ve imagined you thus." Then she saw him shake himself, as though to clear away the cobwebbed remains of a dream. He moved back to where she could see him again. His expression had reverted to the rakish, brazen one she’d seen before, the one that flitted through her dreams.

Her hands clenched the edge of the tub, the heavy ruby ring on her finger chiming against the brass tub a toll of warning. The spell broken, the memory of her obligation to her husband thudding heavily in her stomach, Lisette suddenly needed to get out of this too-intimate situation, to cover herself from Ashur’s gaze.

Seeming to sense her sudden change in mood, Ashur said, "When you’ve finished your bath, would you please join me in the parlor? There’s someone there who may convince you of what I say."

"Someone?"

"Yes," he said with a quirky grin, "Baby."

Ashur was surprised to find his hand trembling as he poured a glass of Agnes’ poorly aged, but otherwise not bad, wine. He’d have to lay off of this stuff if he had to stay here any length of time… What was he thinking? He’d be here forever. His ship was wrecked and even with Baby to provide detailed instructions the means didn’t exist in the sixteenth century to construct another.

Then he thought of Lisette and the prospect of remaining here the rest of his life brightened a touch. It was good, at least, to have someone he could talk to, to tell the truth about himself and where he was from.

If only she wasn’t married to that… that… Geraint. Well, Agnes had made it perfectly, painfully, embarrassingly clear that she wanted him here, near to Lisette for the sole purpose of being Lisette’s lover. Curious people, these aboriginal English. He’d rather have her all to himself, but if this was the way it had to be, and it was what Lisette wanted…

The heavy oak door creaked behind him and Ashur turned around. Sapphire satin clung tantalizingly to Lisette’s form, outlining each soft curve. Every inch of her was concealed, yet somehow it was more enticing than all the revealing, lurid styles of his world and his time. Her hair hung in a wet tangle nearly to the floor. In her hand she held a silver comb. Ashur ached with longing just at the sight of her.

"I, uh…" she began hesitantly, "I usually had Alyce, or one of the maids, help me comb out my hair when it’s wet," she said and Ashur heard the pain in her voice as she said her sister’s name.

"May I?" he asked, moving a step toward her and holding out his hand.

Lisette glided into the room, Ashur could think of no more accurate way to describe the graceful ease with which she moved. Seating herself on a cushioned stool before the fire, Lisette perched, her posture tensely erect. Ashur’s lips twitched in amusement at her rigid stance. She was torn, he could see, in her desires. It touched him in a way he’d never experienced before, seeing her innocent uncertainty.

Gently he let his fingertip barely brush her shoulder and felt her tighten then force herself to relax. Admiration swept over Ashur. The things she’d seen, the things he’d told her would have had the average woman of this world running to a priest or sheriff in a screaming panic. Not Lisette. What an extraordinary woman she was.

Slowly, carefully, he worked the silver comb through the tangled mass of hair. A curious method of haircare, it was, he thought, but it certainly did have its advantages. The closeness of her, the flickering golden light and low crackling of the fire, the teasing lavender scent of her, all combined in a hopelessly bewitching way. Had circumstances been only a little different, Ashur thought he might forget himself and throw himself down before her right now and implore her to stay with him forever and be his wife.

That, of course, could never be.

Lisette relaxed under his gentle ministrations, a small sigh escaping her.

"Tell me the rest," she murmured.

His fingers buried in her luxurious tresses, Ashur paused, looking inward to another place and another time. His tale until now had been easy to tell, pleasant memories from when things had been as they ought to be. Letting out his breath in a soft, slow sigh, Ashur’s voice quietly and unemotionally began to tell Lisette of how his life and his world had come apart.