Clan, Honor, and Empire, page 28
part #3 of Clan Beginnings Series
“She voluntarily emancipated you?”
“She says being tied down to anyone makes her feel smothered. She’s thanked me more than once for turning out to be a Nobek so I could be guided by others more stable than her.”
Flencik told his stunned-looking Dramok, “Breft’s father was an unclanned Nobek. He is deceased.”
Breft nodded. “He came around quite a bit when I was young. I even stayed with him a few times before I was sent off to training camp. I think he was glad to have a son, from the little I remember. Mother said he was a good guy, spending time with me and providing extra financial support without being asked.”
“He was a Global Security officer,” Flencik supplied.
Breft grinned with pride. “The same as I’d like to be. Dramok Rajhir, your Imdiko was kind enough to offer to see if he knew anyone I could interview with who might be able to help me get there. But I think it’s more likely you would be the man with the connections.”
“I suppose I might.” Rajhir gave Flencik a dark look.
Flencik countered with as wide-eyed an innocent look as he could summon. After all, he hadn’t divulged that Rajhir’s Nobek father was a direct link into the Global Security youth trainee program.
“I’m not looking for an unearned place in Global Security, Dramok.” Breft’s tone went steely. “Despite the disciplinary issues that come from me having to defend myself so often, my training camp records are otherwise without blemish. I have excellent skills that would translate well in a career with Global Security. I only ask for the opportunity to be fairly considered.”
“Forward your camp dossier to me, and I’ll have someone look at it.”
Rajhir’s jaw was tight as he spoke, but Flencik knew his Dramok would not offer something he didn’t intend to deliver. He couldn’t help but smile to hear Astef would be seeing Breft’s credentials.
Breft’s face lit with delight. “Great! Thank you, Dramok. That’s very generous of you, especially since you don’t know me.”
Rajhir relaxed a little, relenting since Breft acknowledged he was being something of an imposition. Maybe Rajhir also remembered he’d never had to prove himself to be seen by the right people who could give him a break. The Dramok had admitted privately to Flencik that it sometimes bothered him. Having advantages others didn’t was often an embarrassment. It wasn’t just Gegra’s influence that kept Rajhir from speaking of his blood ties to the Imperial Clan.
Rajhir adopted a friendlier tone as he conversed with the young Nobek. “You’ve concentrated on law enforcement in your studies, Breft?”
Without a hint of ego, Breft rattled off his accomplishments. “I’m at the top of my class in all forms of hand-to-hand combat. Plus I’m in the top five percent in intimidation tactics and de-escalation of violent situations.”
Flencik had to laugh. “De-escalation, huh? So how did you end up fighting six of your campmates?”
Breft wrinkled his nose. “Some people just need their asses kicked.”
Flencik chuckled and finished his kloq. Breft grinned at him and drained his bottle too. Rajhir smiled at the exchange, but there was still an air of uncertainty in his manner.
Breft got to his feet and bowed to them. “I’d better get back to camp before they do final head count. Thanks for the drink.”
Flencik and Rajhir also stood. The Imdiko said, “Thank you for bringing me my scanner and thwarting Alc’s attempt to force a second meeting.”
Breft snickered. “I bet he’s still looking for it and cursing a blue streak. Good night, Flencik. Good night, Dramok Rajhir.”
Rajhir offered a quick bow. “Good night, Nobek.”
They followed him to the door. Though he’d been eager to get rid of their caller only minutes ago, Flencik felt a little disappointed now that Breft was leaving. The young man was fascinating.
He asked, “Do you need a ride back?”
“No, I borrowed a shuttle from a member of the overnight staff.”
The way Breft said it made Flencik wonder. Apparently it sent off warning bells in Rajhir’s head too, because his Dramok asked, “Borrowed?”
Breft stepped to the door, and it opened. He turned with a grin. “I’m also one of the best in my class at forcible entry and confiscation.”
Before they could react, Breft stepped out and the door shut behind him. Flencik burst out laughing. Borrowed, indeed!
He liked the young troublemaker. Breft was entertaining, to say the least.
Rajhir shook his head, looking far from amused. “The things they teach Nobeks. If I hear of anyone’s property in this complex being damaged or missing tomorrow morning, I’m reporting him.”
Flencik patted his shoulder. “Relax, my Dramok. I like Breft. He’s fun.”
Rajhir gave him a look and finished his drink. Shaking his head, he got himself another as Flencik continued to chuckle.
Chapter 18
Breft piloted through the darkening sky, enjoying the way the purloined shuttle handled under his assured commands. It was a fairly recent model, and its owner had kept it up well. Damn if the thing didn’t practically fly itself. Breft would return it without a scratch. If he timed it right between security patrols, its owner would never know it had left its bay at all. As long as no one raised any alarms, the recorded vid footage wouldn’t even be checked. Breft grinned. After 15 years at Canqua Training Camp, he knew the drill pretty well.
What he didn’t know so well were the strange feelings he was experiencing when it came to Dr. Flencik. The attraction to the big Imdiko surprised him. Breft was no stranger to sexual relations, having had his share of encounters with his fellow trainees. When they weren’t trying to beat the hell out of him, many of the other men his age did their best to seduce him. He had a reputation for seeing to others’ pleasures along with his own when he had the upper hand. Breft was a rough lover, as so many Nobek younglings tended to be, but he was considerate in his own way.
Sex for physical enjoyment had always been the primary aim of such encounters. Fucking had never had any other purpose as far as Breft was concerned. Yet he’d been thinking about Flencik ever since meeting him. Though his ruminations raised the demanding specter of lust, there had been a deeper tone to the urge than he’d experienced before. Breft caught himself wondering what the Imdiko did when he wasn’t busy being a doctor. He’d wanted to know what kind of home Flencik lived in, what he looked like when not dressed in doctor’s scrubs, and so much more.
Hell, he’d just flat out wanted to see Flencik again. It had been that overriding need that had spurred Breft to stalk Alc after they’d left Medical in order to steal the scanner the older Nobek had picked off of Flencik.
Poor, hopeful Alc, Breft thought. The way the security guard had eyed Flencik while the doctor treated Breft had been pathetic. Alc was much too old for the doctor, in Breft’s opinion.
And I’m too young. Still, challenges are meant to be met, not avoided.
Breft didn’t question why he found the big Imdiko fascinating. Just the brief exposure to Flencik told him he’d never met anyone so gentle and kind. The Imdiko medics at the camp’s hospital were an okay lot. They were certainly warmer than the Nobeks and few Dramoks who trained and ran the camp, but they still had something of an edge to their demeanors. It was probably because they had to deal with violent Nobek younglings all day.
There was none of that from Flencik. Breft had never encountered his like, and it made him almost desperate to know the surgeon better.
The biggest hindrance the Nobek saw to befriending Flencik was the man’s Dramok. Rajhir had seemed rather uptight. There had been moments when he’d even been snooty, as if looking down his elegant nose at Breft. Breft doubted the man would do anything to help him towards his goal of joining Global Security. Dramok Rajhir had probably never had to work hard for anything in his life. Surely he couldn’t imagine the desperation of seeing a dearly-held dream out of reach.
Still, Rajhir had been extremely handsome. His body had been as graceful and exciting as Flencik’s was big. Breft had caught a whiff of arousal aroma from both men and couldn’t help but grin. He thought he might have interrupted something by showing up at their door without warning.
“Hell, if I had that gorgeous Imdiko or Dramok waiting for me at home, I’d fuck all the time,” he muttered. “It’s too bad about Rajhir’s attitude though. That definitely needs work.”
Yet the most alluring thing about the Dramok had been the aura of power he wore like a second skin. Perhaps Rajhir was arrogant, but the sense of authority he exuded made Breft shiver. To be commanded by such a man would be exciting.
Rajhir was a question mark, but Breft had no doubt he wanted to see Flencik again. Hell, forget want. He needed to see the Imdiko and get to know him better. It was apparent to Breft that such a nice man needed a fierce Nobek to keep him safe.
“I could do it. I would protect him with my life,” Breft told himself. “It’s what I’m meant for.”
He wondered if the pair was considering any particular Nobek already. No doubt such a high-ranking Dramok and Imdiko had more than their share of would-be clanmates trying to impress them. Certainly they were vetting men from wellborn families, Nobeks who had proven their worth. Even if Rajhir would come down off his high horse long enough to consider Breft as a potential protector, why would he? Breft was no one and came from nothing. He didn’t even have a parent clan. It was as unlikely a prospect as Breft getting into Global Security. It made him feel morose.
“But they still haven’t clanned anyone,” Breft consoled himself. “If someone with status hasn’t attracted them yet, maybe they’re looking for something beyond rank. Maybe they’re looking for a quality that doesn’t come from status, money, and connections.”
He would do some research on Flencik and his Dramok to find out everything there was to know about the men. Getting the background on a public figure like an emperor’s assistant would be simple enough. Even if it wasn’t, that was okay too. Breft hadn’t mentioned that along with all his other accomplishments, he was in the top of his enforcement class in investigative research. Getting the goods on Rajhir, maybe even discovering the man’s likes and dislikes, would be an easy task.
* * * *
Rajhir had a standing lunch appointment with Gegra once a week. Unlike dinners at Clan Gegra’s home, these dates were kept pleasant by unspoken mutual consent. The two men’s workdays were contentious enough without adding family drama to the mix. With Gegra dealing with the infighting of the Royal Council and Rajhir juggling Zarl’s crowded schedules and testy councilmen to boot, the last thing either wanted to do was argue. They also refused to discuss legislative matters, as it would be dishonorable to do so. Since Rajhir knew so much of what was going on from the Imperial Clan’s end, it was unthinkable for him to give Gegra any kind of inside information. Understandably, Gegra kept his own projects quiet when they were in competition to what the Imperial Clan wanted. In matters to do with the Empire, Rajhir reported first and foremost to Emperor Zarl and Gegra supported that.
As a result, lunches with his father were usually quite enjoyable for Rajhir. They stuck to impartial subjects like sports, books, and art. Gegra had even begun to wax nostalgic about his boyhood, sharing glimpses into a youth that startled Rajhir. He’d never imagined his father as an uncertain boy, struggling with his own parents’ high expectations. That Gegra had not always been the self-assured rock of a father Rajhir had known was a revelation.
The two usually had their lunches away from the Government House, keeping to neutral ground in restaurants not frequented by other members of Kalquor’s ruling force. Today was the exception because Gegra had an ethics committee meeting early in the afternoon. For that reason, they’d decided to order in from one of the building’s eateries and have their meal in Gegra’s chambers.
Rajhir left the higher level of the building that housed the Imperial Clan’s offices, taking the transport down one floor where Gegra’s chambers were located. He walked down the familiar halls where his father had worked for most of Rajhir’s life.
These were the upper chambers, where the Empire’s most prestigious legislators held court. The level was almost as ornate as the Imperial Clan’s, with polished floors that looked as fine as marble, arched ceilings sweeping overhead, and master artwork displayed. If not for the absence of red formsuited Royal Guards, one might think he was on the ruling clan’s level. It was a far cry from the cramped hallways, scuffed floors, and vid-projected window scenes where Ospar had gotten his political start. This was the place that most candidates for Kalquor’s various legislations aspired to someday reign.
Many of the chamber doors Rajhir passed stood wide open. This was the hub of political activity, the place where legislation was put together, deals were made, alliances formed. Councilmen and their aides dashed from office to office all day, vying to reach agreements that would benefit their constituencies in particular and the Empire as a whole.
It should have been no surprise to see Councilman Pwaldur heading down the corridor in his direction, but Rajhir was forced to suppress a groan. Of all people to run into, Pwaldur was one he least wanted to see. He couldn’t believe the emperors were really planning to commit their only son and heir to that man’s daughter. As beloved as Pwaldur had made himself to the common Kalquorian, he was twice the asshole behind the scenes. Any councilman who opposed the broad-framed Dramok was in for a fight, not just for his causes but also his reputation. Pwaldur was a vengeful prick.
As usual, Pwaldur’s aide Dramok Aynech scurried in the brawny councilman’s wake. Only a handful of years older than Rajhir, Aynech had become as much a fixture in the Government House as his employer. The man was tall, but he was not Flencik-tall. Nor was he as broad as Pwaldur. Aynech had not worked on the natural muscularity that evolution had bequeathed the Kalquorians. As a result of that and his height, he looked almost skinny. His face was too thin, but still attractive. He could be charming when he bothered, especially for public functions. For the most part however, Aynech stayed in the background. He seemed content to go through life carrying out Pwaldur’s orders with a low, “Yes, Councilman.”
Of course, Pwaldur couldn’t let Rajhir pass with a mere greeting. He halted right in front of the younger man, blocking his way. His booming voice, as powerful as the rest of him, filled the corridor. “Ah, Dramok Rajhir. What brings you from the shining heavens of the Imperial chambers to our lowly place?”
Rajhir forced himself to smile at the councilman. Pwaldur’s face was filled with hearty good cheer, but the way his gaze raked over Rajhir’s aide robes was insulting. The younger man could sense the sneer behind the facade.
Honor and Empire, he thought, staving off the impulse to remind Pwaldur in an insolent tone that Gegra’s offices were on this floor. The last thing Gegra or Zarl needed was this man in their faces over Rajhir’s behavior.
Wearing a pleasantly bland expression reserved for such encounters, Rajhir said in a friendly tone, “I’m having lunch with my father today.”
“Isn’t that wonderful? Just lunch? Nothing else?”
The man’s lack of manners was atrocious, but Pwaldur was not known for his good breeding. Rajhir said, “We work long hours, as you do. We take what opportunity we can to spend time together.”
Pwaldur beamed at him. “It is good to see someone your age show such respect for his father. No wonder Gegra is proud of you.”
“One always must respect his fathers. I hold mine in the highest esteem.” It was a pointed remark. Pwaldur and Gegra made no secret they couldn’t stand each other.
“As you should.” Though his smile held, Pwaldur’s eyes narrowed. “I take it your respect does not include whispering secret messages between the emperors and a councilman? I ask because Gegra is most accommodating with the projects the Imperial Clan wishes to see done. I do wonder about the ethical concerns of a councilman’s son working so closely with the Crown.”
Fury warmed Rajhir at the intimation he might aid the Imperial Clan in thwarting the council and better interests of Kalquor. However, he also knew Pwaldur baited him simply because Rajhir was Gegra’s son. Neither their dislike of each other nor their current battle over a piece of legislation was his affair. Rajhir knew he needed to stay out of it.
With a smile to match Pwaldur’s Rajhir said, “I’ll be sure to let both my father and the emperors know of your concerns. I’m sure they’ll be most happy to disabuse you of them.”
“I’m sure they will,” Pwaldur snorted. “Ancestors forbid anyone think they were in collusion over the mining law question that they are determined to work in their mutual favor. Of course you are much too ethical to be a part of their schemes.”
He moved to one side, apparently done with Rajhir with that last little dig. Rajhir knew Pwaldur’s hints were unfounded, but the insult to his honor stung.
Knowing he was stooping to the councilman’s level but unable to resist, Rajhir turned to call after the departing man. “Oh, congratulations on your daughter being considered as one of the potential Mataras to the prince. I’m sure she’s being given every fair consideration as the Imperial Clan weighs her connections against those of other candidates.”
Pwaldur stumbled a little, and the closely following Aynech nearly ran into him. The councilman turned to look at Rajhir, his expression frozen. Rajhir felt a mean kind of glee as he matched the startled gaze with a smile. He was still arranging gifts for Pwaldur’s little girl Narpok and had not yet sent the formal inquiry to her parents. Pwaldur had no idea his daughter was the primary candidate for future empress. No doubt he was regretting his thinly-veiled insults right now.
Rajhir offered him a respectful bow and turned his back on the councilman. As he continued towards Gegra’s chambers, a grin spread over his face. Sometimes petty revenge felt damned good.
