Burning for Love by Evangeline Anderson
1
“Thank you for coming today, J-8,” Commander Sylvan said, nodding his head formally. He offered his forearm for a warrior’s clasp.
J-8 offered his own forearm but he clasped his commander’s arm carefully, mindful of the immense strength in his enhanced right arm and hand. He could have crushed the other male’s bones with ease if he’d wanted to, though of course he did not.
As they finished the clasp, Commander Sylvan made a courteous gesture.
“Please, have a seat. I have an assignment I believe you are uniquely suited for that is of the utmost urgency.”
J-8 nodded his head at his commander and sat in the chair across from the other male’s desk. After spending most of his life on Zeaga Four, the home world of the Dark Kindred, he had decided to make a move to the Kindred Mother Ship and had taken a job in the Kindred Elite Espionage Corps.
Just as he had once sworn his unswerving allegiance to the Collective—the computer hive mind that had run his old planet and ruled the Dark Kindred with an iron fist—he now swore it to Commander Sylvan, who was the Head of the Kindred High Council. And whatever his commanding officer ordered him to do, he would achieve without fail.
“I am ready to complete whatever mission you send me on, Commander,” he said. “Tell me where you wish me to go and what you wish me to do and I will do it.”
“Thank you.” Sylvan nodded approval. “Are you familiar with the planet, Regalia Five in the Bolevard System?”
J-8 frowned.
“Is that the star system which was supposedly transported from an alternate universe into our own?”
“Exactly.” Sylvan nodded. “The entire system came through a gigantic worm hole some fifty cycles ago. And some of the planets—Regalia included—bear a striking resemblance to some planets here in our own universe—to Earth, in fact.”
“I see.” J-8 nodded, though he wondered what all this had to do with his mission. His people, the Dark Kindred, had at one time tried to take over the Earth, which was being protected by the Kindred of the Mother Ship. They had been under the control of the Collective at that time, however, and he himself had not fought in the war. In fact, he knew little of Earth or its cultures, except what he had observed from the Earthlings he had met aboard the Mother Ship.
They were an illogical people, J-8 had found, prone to all kinds of extreme emotions. But then, almost anyone was emotional compared to himself and his fellow Dark Kindred. Emotions were forbidden on his home planet of Zeaga Four where “Feel Crime” was punishable by death.
Despite the fact that he had been living on the Kindred Mother Ship for five cycles now, where emotions were not only permitted but actually encouraged, J-8 still had his original emotion damper implanted at the back of his neck. He had lived his whole life without the messy encumbrance of emotions and he didn’t intend to start feeling now, just because it was allowed in his new home.
“In what way does Regalia Five resemble Earth?” he asked, because he had learned that it was polite to ask questions on a topic if it was introduced by another, even if he had no interest in it.
“Well, it doesn’t resemble present day Earth,” Commander Sylvan said, frowning. “According to my mate, Sophia, it’s more analogous to Earth of the past. We visited there recently, to establish diplomatic relations with the Regalians, as they call themselves, and Sophia said she felt as though she’d just stepped into a ‘period piece’—which is a film or vid that is set in a historical period from Earth’s past,” he explained. “Of course, they have space flight and some advanced technology, but it’s oddly mixed with elements of the past from several different time periods.”
“I see,” J-8 said neutrally, though he didn’t see at all—nor did he care. He didn’t know anything about Earth’s past historical periods and he didn’t really see what bearing this information had on his mission. “Commander,” he said. “Can you please tell me what you want me to do on Regalia Five?”
“Ah yes, you Dark Kindred are always straight to the point,” Commander Sylvan said dryly. “Well, while Sophia and I were at the Regalia High Court, the Steward—who is in temporary control of the planet—confided to me that he feared for the Princess’s life. She is coming of age and into her first Heat Cycle very soon, which makes her uniquely vulnerable because…but I see that I’ve already lost you,” he said, looking at the confusion J-8 could feel on his own face. “Here—maybe this will explain things better than I can.”
Reaching into his desk, he pulled out an old-fashioned piece of stiff parchment paper which was printed with a dense block of words. He handed it to J-8 with a nod.
Frowning, J-8 took the parchment and looked at it. The words were in an unfamiliar language, but that wasn’t a problem for him. In an instant, the ocular scanner that usually molded itself to the right side of his skull extended and positioned itself over his right eye.
When J-8 looked through the scanner, it began to translate the printed words into his own language. At the same time, the implants in his brain stored the new language so that in the future, he wouldn’t need any help to translate it. In fact, after reading this single sheet of paper, he would be able to speak, read, and write in the Regalian language with perfect ease.
But the workings of his implants and enhancements were so natural and expected, that J-8 didn’t even notice them. Instead, he was engrossed in the contents of the parchment, which seemed to say some very strange things indeed.
At the top of the parchment, in flowing script was the heading,
Lady TittleTattle’s Breadcrumbs.
Under the heading, the writing went straight to the point.
Gentle Reader, it began. Has there ever been such intrigue in the High Court as we have lately seen? The Season has but just begun and already there has been an attempt upon the Crown Princess’s life! Thankfully, the despicable attempt was foiled by the loyal palace guards, but one can only imagine the fear and anguish it caused our dear Princess Ka’rissa—and just as she is entering her very first Heat Cycle, too!
Of course, we all know of the tragedy of the sweet Princess’s life. Her own dear Papa, our late King, died when the Princess was but ten years old and her mother, the Queen, followed him only a year later when no suitable match could be found before she self-immolated in a dire and dramatic display, right in the middle of the Grand Ballroom!
J-8 frowned. Self-immolated? Was his scanner translating that correctly? It sounded as though the Regalia Queen had burned to death in the middle of a ballroom. Could that possibly be right? It had to be a mistake of his language-translation program.
Reading on, however, he saw that he hadn’t been mistaken after all.
Who can ever forget that moment, when our beloved monarch went up in a tower of flames, right in the middle of a splendid cotillion? And who can forget the Princess’s grief as she became an orphan, with no one to care for her but her fine old family Steward, who even now guides our planet with a gentle, fatherly hand, just as he guides the Princess’s own life and Royal career.
With a Papa cold in the ground and a Mama who is sadly no more than a handful of ash, the dear Princess Ka’rissa needs all the guidance she can get—especially as she enters her first Cycle and the search for a suitable suitor to cool her Royal Heat begins, the parchment went on, in a rather gossipy tone.
Already the Royal points glow pink and some say there is a distinct smell of burning about the Princess—though we may hope that scent is simply a new perfume or wig powder Her Highness is trying out. Surely she will find the right suitor—one deemed eligible and correct by the Steward himself—to cool her Heat before she, too, succumbs to the awful fate of her sweet Mama—that of spontaneous combustion.
We can only hope for the best, Dear Reader. Until we know Princess Ka’rissa’s fate, I shall continue to faithfully report to you all the intimate details of the High Court. Follow my breadcrumbs to know the latest news!
I remain your obedient and humble servant,
Lady TittleTattle.
J-8 read the strange words twice more and then frowned as he looked up at Commander Sylvan.
“As far as I can tell, the gist of this…” He waved the parchment. “Seems to be that this ‘Princess Ka’rissa’ is in some kind of danger—either of being assassinated or burned to a crisp. Though I confess, I don’t fully comprehend the last threat.”
“The Royals of the Very First Family of Regalia have what they refer to as ‘Fire Blood’,” Commander Sylvan explained. “Once a year, starting around the age of twenty-five years old, they enter what is known as a ‘Heat Cycle.’ At that time, if they don’t find a mate,their blood can get so hot that they actually do self-immolate or experience spontaneous combustion.” He shrugged. “At which point, they burst into flames and burn so quickly, there’s no saving them. In a matter of moments, I’m told, there’s nothing left of them but a pile of ashes.”
“That’s not good,” J-8 said blandly.
“I believe that’s the worst understatement I’ve ever heard,” Commander Sylvan remarked, frowning. “It’s horrible to think that a promising young female could suddenly burst into flames and die—or that she could be assassinated in her own home. But then…” He sighed. “I know you Dark Kindred have no emotions, even about the most tragic events—you keep a cool head no matter how extreme the circumstances. That is, in fact, one reason I think you’d be perfect for this assignment.”
“I believe my ‘cool head’ may be attributed to the fact that five percent of my DNA is Z’ngu, as much as the fact that I am a Dark Kindred,” J-8 said.
The Z’ngu were a reptilian race who were able to control their body temperature, no matter what the climate. The Tolleg scientist who had mixed J-8’s DNA had believed it would help him keep from overheating in the middle of battle—which, as it turned out, was perfectly true. He was able to cool his entire body at will.
The only other traits the Z’ngu DNA gave him was a perfect sense of pitch—(the Z’ngu were a musical people, who communicated through song)—and pale, metallic blue eyes that seemed to flash menacingly when they reflected any light source. They also glowed in the dark and gave him superior night vision.
J-8 had never had cause to use his sense of pitch on Zeaga Four, because it was believed that music would cause emotions and so it was forbidden. And other than his eyes, he looked perfectly Kindred, which was the other ninety-five percent of his genetic makeup.
He was seven feet tall and heavily muscled—standard for his race—with black hair which he kept short, and a neatly trimmed black beard. J-8 had never been allowed to have facial hair when he lived on Zeaga Four. He had tried it out as a novelty once he moved to the Mother Ship and decided to keep it—mostly because it was easier to trim a beard than to shave his entire face every day.
“Ah, well, Z’ngu DNA aside, I’m still certain you’re perfect for this assignment,” Commander Sylvan said.
“What exactly is the assignment, though, Commander?” J-8 asked, frowning.
Commander Sylvan leaned forward. Planting his elbows on his desk, he steepled his long fingers in front of him.
“I need to assign a warrior to be Princess Ka’rissa’s bodyguard and Constant Companion at the High Court until she finds a mate,” he said.
“A bodyguard at the High Court?” J-8 raised his eyebrows. “Forgive me, Commander Sylvan, but I’m not very well suited for any kind of diplomatic mission,” he pointed out. “Most of my assignments in the Elite Espionage Corps so far have been covert operations—assassinations and the like.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t be required to talk much,” his commander promised him. “And it’s good that you’re a deadly assassin and a skilled warrior. If anyone can keep the Princess safe, it’s you, J-8.”
“Thank you for that assessment.” J-8 nodded his head, acknowledging the compliment. “But there are many, many warriors in the Elite Espionage Corps that can claim the same skills I have.”
“Yes, but none of them are Dark Kindred,” Commander Sylvan pointed out. “They all have emotions. You, I believe, are still dampening yours?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at J-8.
“Yes. Yes, of course I am,” J-8 said—perhaps a bit too quickly.
In fact, he had been planning to go see Yipper, the Tolleg surgeon, for a routine check-up of his emotion damper very soon—he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
Lately he had been having thoughts that were a bit out of the ordinary. They troubled him. Or rather, they were different from what he was used to, J-8 amended to himself. So a check-up was in order. But surely he could get that done before he had to go on this mission, so there was no point in bothering Commander Sylvan about it.
“I have no emotions,” he said, as much to reassure himself as Commander Sylvan. “Feelings are nothing but a distraction—a liability during a mission.”
“I wouldn’t agree that’s always true, but it certainly is with this mission,” Commander Sylvan said seriously. “You see, the Regalians are extremely strict about sexual purity before Joining. A young woman—especially in the upper echelons of their society, must be above reproach in every way. And I must therefore assign a guard who is above reproach as well—one who will protect her chastity without any desire to ‘deflower her’ or ‘slake her Heat’ as the Regalians say.”
J-8’s frown deepened.
“But Commander, no Kindred warrior would take a female against her will. Even I, a Dark Kindred with no belief in the Goddess or her ways, would not do such a thing. We are genetically incapable of harming a female in such a way.”
“Of course we are,” Commander Sylvan said gently. “You and I know that, J-8. But the Regalians have a more difficult time understanding and believing it. I think that by sending you to the Steward—who is the one who requested a Kindred guard for the Princess in the first place—they will see an emotionless robot who would never even think of laying a finger on her sexually. Not that I’m comparing you to a robot,” he added quickly.
“I am not offended by the comparison.” J-8 shrugged, his broad shoulder rolling beneath the metal of his exoskeleton. “Though it would, perhaps, be more accurate to say that I resemble what I have heard Earthlings call a ‘cyborg’—half organic and half-enhanced—due to my many modifications and enhancements.”
“The point is, your, er, enhancements make you seem more robotic and less humanoid—thus less prone to any kind of sexuality,” Commander Sylvan explained. “The Princess can be alone with you without a chaperone present with no damage to her reputation because it will be well-known that you have no sexual interest in her—though you will be a deadly threat to anyone who tries to harm her,” he added.
J-8 nodded, again, completely un-offended by his commander’s words.
“It is true, my emotion damper represses my sexuality and any urges I might have of that nature, along with all my other emotions,” he acknowledged.
Though to be perfectly honest, he had tried visiting the Pleasure House, where the Pairing Puppets were located not that long ago, just to see what all those “urges” were about. He had gone out of pure curiosity—which didn’t really count as an emotion—and had found the encounter with the semi-sentient doll he had been paired with no more than mildly pleasurable.
It was certainly not an experience he was aching to repeat, J-8 thought. His emotions and urges were, as always, well-contained and he could certainly be trusted to guard the Regalia Princess without being tempted to despoil her in any way.
“I accept this assignment,” he said formally to Commander Sylvan. “When do I leave?”
“At once, I’m afraid.” His commander frowned. “Every moment Princess Ka’rissa is without a Kindred guard, her danger grows. And hopefully you won’t have to be there long—just until she finds the proper suitor and mates with him,” he went on. “Once her Heat is slaked by the correct male, she will ascend to the throne and she will then be granted certain safeguards that only the legitimate ruler of Regalia is given, as I understand it. After that, you can consider your mission complete and come home to the Mother Ship.”
“Understood.” J-8 nodded again and rose from the chair. “I will pack immediately.”
Commander Sylvan rose as well, but put out a restraining hand.
“Before you go, there are a few things you must do to make yourself more acceptable to Regalia society.”
“Oh?” J-8 frowned, looking down at himself. “Is there something wrong with my appearance?”
“Not exactly but I’m afraid they won’t take well to your armored suit,” Commander Sylvan said.
“You want me to shed my exoskeleton?” J-8 lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “But it has many of my best weapons. Do I also have to ask Yipper to remove my enhancements?”
He had several, including the ocular scanner, the metallic strength and dexterity enhancements in his right hand and arm, and the bionics implanted in his legs. They were as much a part of him as his metallic eyes and his perfect sense of pitch. Losing them would make being an effective guard very difficult—though not impossible—he thought.
But Commander Sylvan was shaking his head.
“No, you can leave your enhancements on,” he promised. “It’s just the exo-skeleton that has to go. You’ll be required to wear Regalia appropriate clothing—especially when appearing in the High Court at the Princess’s side.”
“Very well, I can do that.” J-8 felt a small tickle of relief at the thought that he wouldn’t be required to strip himself of all enhancements—and then suppressed it fiercely. Not that it was actually an emotion—it was just a good thing that he wouldn’t be required to change too drastically in order to fit in during his new mission—that was all, he told himself.
“Good,” Commander Sylvan said. “And there’s just one other thing you need to change before you go—your name.”
“My…name?” J-8 looked at him in confusion.
“Your designation,” Commander Sylvan said. “’J-8’ isn’t a name that will work in the highly formal setting of the Regalia High Court.”
J-8 shook his head, honestly bewildered.
“Well…what is a good name, then?” he asked.
“I’ve actually prepared a list of names that might work for you,” Commander Sylvan said, pulling out an info-pad and tapping on its surface. “My wife, Sophia, helped. She said these would work in either the High Court or any period piece she’s ever seen. Look, here—you can pick one of them.”
J-8 took the info-pad from him and scanned it rapidly.
“Edward, John, Fitzwilliam, Matthew…” he read aloud, frowning. Finally, he found one he liked. “That one,” he said, tapping the screen. “I will be ‘James’. It sounds similar to my old designation, at least. So it won’t be too much of a change.”
“James it is,” Commander Sylvan said, nodding his approval. “And now, I’d like you to go to Regalia as soon as possible. I’ve had a long-range shuttle stocked and prepped for you and the Steward is expecting you for tonight’s ball.”
“Ball? As in…dancing?” J-8—or James, as he must now be called, he reminded himself—frowned in consternation. “As you may know, Commander, dancing and music were forbidden activities on my home world so I have never learned how to dance.”
“I don’t think you’ll be required to dance, J-8, I mean, James,” Commander Sylvan said to him. “You’re just going to be formally introduced to the Princess so you can guard her. You’ll attend the ball as her bodyguard, not her escort.”
“Very well.” James nodded. “Then I will go at once.”
Afterhe made a small side trip to visit the resident Tolleg surgeon, Yipper, he told himself. It wouldn’t be a good idea to start such an important mission without having his emotion damper checked.
Not a good idea at all.
