Voso rose and approached his lord, who remained seated with a curious expression on his face. He waved a hand to dismiss Voso’s formalities, before Voso could bow his head. Mozok had not allowed Voso to complete these gestures in the entire time that Voso had been his servant, for Mozok had no patience for such things and thought them stupid. Their bond was irrevocable, Mozok liked to say, so he didn’t see the point of Voso—who towered above Mozok by almost two feet and was inarguably strong enough to break Mozok in two with minimal effort—engaging in what Mozok called, behind closed doors, silly tributes that meant nothing.
But Voso was a Herstrakaa of honor, and so he always tried.
Mozok indicated that Voso should sit beside him—something Voso needed no invitation to do, but the pair liked to keep up appearances in public. Voso looked straight ahead, one part of his mind ever-watchful, as he leaned toward Mozok to speak in a whisper to his lord.
“The Human made a customary error,” he whispered. “And was punished.”
Mozok’s face did not change. He folded his long fingers together and brought them to his lips, a gesture he had acquired after watching many, many hours of recordings of Human business interactions. Voso doubted that Mozok was aware of this habit, or the many others that he acquired instinctively from many different hominid species. It was, in part, what made Mozok so successful, especially with Humans.
“What error did she make?”
“She attempted to cross the parliamentary floor.”
Mozok lifted his chin and then lowered it. “Strange,” he commented.
Only then did he turn his attention toward the Human, and he stared openly at her. His gaze eventually attracted her attention, and she turned her head slowly to better see him. Her knowledge of customs seemed to have improved after her punishment, because she did not attempt to meet Mozok’s gaze directly.
“She is seated with Marmeth,” Mozok observed, disdain evident in his tone.
“Marmeth stated that he is her liaison,” Voso informed. His hearing was sharp enough to have overheard the exchanges between Marmeth and the Human, whose name was Mina Groza.
Mozok did something unusual, turning to Voso to speak confidentially. “And how is it that her liaison failed so completely in his advice?”
Voso bristled. “Marmeth is a known sthiiskaa,” Voso spat in hushed tones, using a Herstrakaa word that had no exact translation to Draquun. “Traitorous snake of no discernible allegiance” was the translation he had been given, with amusement, by Marmeth himself. The aged Draquun had seemed to know that Voso had wanted the word in order to describe him, and because of his character, had not seemed bothered by the descriptor.
“Indeed,” Mozok said, in a tone that Voso knew meant that Mozok was thinking, many moves ahead as he so often did. There was a lengthy pause while Mozok tilted his head ever-so-slightly in curiosity—one of his few telltale gestures that indicated a rare interest in the subject at hand. “And how do we call this Human?”
“Mina Groza,” Voso answered.
“And is she mated?”
Voso paused. The answer was, technically, unknown to him. But mated Human females—they called this phenomenon “marriage”—typically did not travel to far-flung galaxies, and usually wore metallic objects on their fourth left digit.
“Unknown, but signs indicate that she is not,” he said, wondering the reason for Mozok’s question. He experienced a confusing flash of sexual attraction again, but he knew that Mozok’s tastes did not usually run to Humans… and therefore, neither could his own.
Mozok grunted, a response that Voso could not interpret.
“She is colorless and weak, like all female Humans. It is a curiosity, this Human insistence upon sending physically weak specimens to negotiate, with no protector.”
Voso tipped his head in affirmation. He found this Human custom perplexing and distasteful. Herstrakaa were naturally protective, and Voso conformed to the caste of his species that defended the weak as a matter of honor. It had appalled him to punish the Human when her error was clearly a result of her lack of a guardian.
Mozok was still looking at Mina Groza, thoughts glittering behind his eyes. “She is pleasant to look at, if frail and weak.” He turned to Voso. “What are your thoughts?”
Voso did not care to reveal his “thoughts,” which were little more than base and unintelligible feelings of arousal and pity. “She is pleasant to look at,” he agreed cautiously. “The Humans value intelligence over physical prowess, not unlike the Draquun. She is likely a formidable adversary in negotiation.”
Mozok grunted again, but this time Voso knew that it was a grunt of amusement. He was fond of remarking upon this value system of the Humans, and its inherent contradictions. If they valued intelligence so much, it was curious, Mozok would say, that they did not possess enough intelligence to know that physical dominance was a necessity. If Humans were so smart, they would pair their intelligent individuals with others at least somewhat capable of physical protection.
They always had a bit of a laugh when Mozok said this, because even the largest and most physically capable Humans were not even a match for the average Draquun, unarmed. Weapons and technology, naturally, changed this calculation, but if they ever found themselves in a position of “real” combat, they would be demolished.
Mozok lifted his fingers and rolled them in Voso’s direction. “I direct you to observe Marmeth, and the Human, this Mina Groza, as intently as possible. I do not trust the sthiiskaa.”
Voso moved his head in subtle affirmation again, pleased to have a clear directive. And pleased in a way he could not interpret, that it involved the Human Mina Groza, whose reddened, soft skin remained as a feeling in the memory cells of his hand, fluttering to life and spreading throughout his body, inexplicably arousing.
CHAPTER3
Mozok was mindful of the Human as she rose and walked calmly—this time obeying all protocols and customs with confidence—to face him in negotiations, conducted as per Draquun custom upon the parliamentary floor with the full panel of senators observing.
Perhaps he had misjudged her, for if she had been rattled by her punishment, or the faux pas that led to it, she seemed to have recovered. He detected only confidence in her mannerisms, and her biological indicators—pupils, skin, muscle control indicated minimal distress.
