The Iriduan’s Mate by Susan Trombley
Four
Shulgi paced in front of Namerian’s desk, his wings twitching with his tension. “Zaska charged us nothing and sent our cargo to the dreg with no fees. I still don’t trust the creature.”
Namerian leaned back in his chair, dropping the stylus he’d been using to make biological sketches on his tablet. “Forming a contract with Zaska might not be a bad idea. The city bosses rarely sweep the under-tier docks, and the cargo we’ve been bringing in through this tier’s docks have raised difficult questions, costing us a fortune in bribery payments.”
Shulgi clenched his fists, pausing in his pacing to stare at the wall behind Namerian’s desk, though he didn’t really see the slowly cycling images of Iriduan landscapes within the elegant frame. “I was afraid you would say that.”
Namerian scoffed, clasping his hands together on the desktop. “There isn’t much that frightens you, Shulgi. Why do I feel like there is more to this hesitation than simple distaste for the gang boss?”
Shulgi opened his mouth to mention the dyed flower, but quickly closed it again. He was unwilling to expose the fact that he’d felt vulnerable to her allure, even with his helmet seal firmly in place. This wasn’t a scent thing. It also wasn’t an admiration that had deepened to a strong attraction, like he’d felt for Paisley.
He couldn’t explain it, and that meant he couldn’t guard against it effectively. Other than to never see her again and hope he forgot about her as quickly as he’d felt an attraction to her. At the same time, he wouldn’t send anyone else to deal directly with Zaska’s minions or even walk the under-tier docks. The professors were not warriors, and Ma’Nah’s guards remained, for the most part, ignorant of the details of their work, as well as the nature of their cargo. They could not be relied upon for intricate business dealings with canny gang bosses.
“As I said, I don’t trust Sha Zaska. Only a fool would.”
Namerian nodded slowly. “Your caution is understandable, but the dockmasters on our tier routinely skim from cargo, spy for the city bosses, and attempt shakedowns and extortions daily, and you can’t deny that the cargo haulers we’re sometimes forced to use don’t always deal honestly with us. Sha Zaska, for all his vile habits and faults, isn’t likely to be a worse option than what we already must contend with.”
Namerian leaned forward in his seat, his violet eyes intent on Shulgi. “Besides, Zaska must be angling for a greater slice of Iriduan business. I’m guessing it was no mistake our cargo was delivered to his docks. Ma’Nah’s custom would legitimize Zaska’s company for the rest of the dreg.”
Shulgi shrugged. “I’d already figured out that our haulers dumped our cargo there on purpose, no doubt threatened or bribed to do so. That doesn’t inspire any more trust in me for doing future business with Zaska.”
Namerian’s wings slowly sliced the air behind his seat as his expression shifted from intent to thoughtful. “Zaska is clever enough to keep his word and minimize his extortion attempts with his associates and clients. If necessary, we can outmaneuver him, but for the moment, I believe we can benefit from his ships and his docks. I say you contact his minions and draw up a contract. If he doesn’t keep to the terms, we pull our business from his company.”
Ultimately, it was Shulgi’s decision as the leader of the front company of Ma’Nah as well as their secret team, but he valued Namerian’s advice even more than he valued the input of any of the other members of their team. He also knew Namerian was right and had already come to that conclusion himself by the time he’d arrived back at the dreg. He had just wanted a second opinion—and perhaps he’d hoped that Namerian would talk him out of doing a deal that might put him back in contact with the dyed flower who had not even given him her name. Assuming she had one. Many slaves weren’t permitted to own anything—even something as intangible as their own name.
He left Namerian’s office after a lengthy discussion of the details for a potential contract. Certain cargo had to be handled differently from the usual supplies required by the company’s legitimate and public production. No doubt Sha Zaska would be eager to gain the shipping runs for Ma’Nah’s off world exports as well, as the company ramped up the export end of their business after installing contacts on Iridu and even far-flung Iriduan colonies in preparation for phase two.
Shulgi finally settled into his small cell of a room that evening with a meal he’d picked up from one of the food stalls that dotted the factory sector to service employees. Unlike the others of his team, he eschewed the apartments at the top of the factory building in favor of a defensible room with a trapdoor exit into the basement. He didn’t like being surrounded by windows vulnerable to sniper attacks, and the view of the dreg wasn’t all that pleasant at any rate, try as the hologram artists might to make the false sky look beautiful.
He often isolated himself from the others, even those he’d taken into closest confidence, like his creche-kin. He doubted he would ever trust himself to form close relationships with anyone at this point. After all, he’d murdered members of his own elite military squad who were as close to family as he’d ever gotten, and he would never forget the look of their blood staining his hands. Nor would he forget the look in Retas’s eyes as he’d turned, the blood welling at his throat from Shulgi’s own dagger.
Instead of anger, or hurt at being so betrayed, he’d had pity in his expression as he’d met Shulgi’s eyes one last time before his body slumped to the floor. He’d known from the moment Shulgi grabbed him from behind and sliced the blade across his flesh that Shulgi had been compromised in a way that would make him a slave forever.
And he’d pitied his murderer because he’d understood that Shulgi had no choice.
Only Shulgi still believed he’d had a choice. He could have found a way to end his own life instead of taking the lives of others. It was difficult to work against the survival instinct that imprinting only enhanced, but imprinted males could manage to commit suicide rather than fully submitting to their compulsion to serve their mates. It was a rare occurrence though, and the longer one was imprinted, and the more exposure he had to his mate’s scent, the more enraptured he became and the harder it was to go against her will.
As much as he despised Ninhursag’s memory now, he well remembered how obsessed he’d felt with her when he’d been under her spell, before receiving the cure.
That was another reason the idea of working with Sha Zaska worried him. The petite and delicate flower of a slave that Zaska dangled like a lure in front of potential clients seemed far too tempting. He no longer had unmated impotency to protect him from rash actions. If she offered herself to him for more favorable terms on the contract, only the fact that she was a slave and not acting on her own desires would deter him from accepting something he could not afford to accept.
Ninhursag had taken his virginity with a cold callousness that made him ill to think about it. She’d used her harem solely for her own pleasure, with no regard for theirs. The fact that he’d felt powerless to deny her anything she’d wanted from him made him unwilling to take advantage of someone in that same way, especially a slave of a monster like Sha Zaska.
On the other hand, the flower appealed to him in a way a woman hadn’t since Ninhursag. Not even his affection for Paisley had made him feel such strong desire. If the dyed flower managed to convince him that she was willing and desirous of his touch, he might not be able to retain his honor and reject her.
In truth, he wanted to free her from her enslavement and protect her from the monster that kept her in chains but knew that would invite far too many complications he couldn’t afford at the moment. The cure had to be his priority. Nothing else could take precedence, and he couldn’t allow irrational desires to spur him into actions that would jeopardize everything he’d built in this dreg to work towards pushing the cure out to all Iriduan males in the galaxy.
He could only hope that Sha Zaska would choose a different mouthpiece once he earned Ma’Nah’s business and no longer needed to dangle a prize in front of Shulgi’s face. Even though he still wanted to see her again. A part of him hoped he’d been misled by faulty memory. Perhaps she wasn’t as appealing as he recalled. She was only human, after all, though her skin was dyed in colors that would appeal to an Iriduan.
She had human eyes, and a human face, and—no doubt—the grating human nature that irritated so many of his kind. Impetuous, impulsive, overly passionate in all things, and markedly impatient.
Unfortunately, Shulgi had learned enough about the human spirit to also acknowledge many traits that were admirable—and perhaps far too infrequent in his own people. Paisley’s empathy, determination, kindness, loyalty, and capacity for love had impressed him to the point that even imprinted on Ninhursag as he had been at the time he’d been trapped on a derelict ship with Paisley, he’d been able to form an attachment to her.
This “flower” might have none of those traits—or all of them. He couldn’t afford to find out. As he ate his meal in isolation, with no company other than the sound of an action play on his holoscreen providing background noise, he braced himself mentally for another potential meeting with Sha Zaska’s minions. He would rest and recuperate first. The day had been long and exhausting, even for one such as him. This meal was the first he’d eaten in so long he could barely recall the taste of the last one.
The stew and the noodles tasted as unmemorable as the last, but the flash-fried flowers on his plate, grown from imports from Iridu, left a lasting impression, and not just one of nostalgia for a home world he likely wouldn’t see again. As he crunched down on the first one, he thought of the Zaska’s dyed flower, and he worried that Sha Zaska would eventually grow tired of her and perhaps decide to consume her as casually as Shulgi now ate the petals of the kizu blossom.
He reminded himself for the hundredth time that she was not his problem, but that reminder didn’t silence his conscience as the breaded, grassy and light floral flavor of the fried blossom turned bitter on his tongue.
