Second Contact (Okal Rel Saga #1)

Chapter 16.2 - An Unusual Creature for a Female Demish Highborn

Di Mon dropped out of skim obediently after dancing 'Liege of Monitum' when challenged by station defenders. After a brief conversation in normal space, in which he proved to their satisfaction that he came at the request of Ayrium's father, D'Ander, he was invited to get close enough to converse with the station by radio.

"Welcome to Trinket Ring," a woman's voice greeted Di Mon cheerfully. "I am Ayrium, Protector of the Purple Alliance."

Di Mon frowned at the title, which had no precedent in history except as an old Golden Demish idea. In either case it rubbed him the wrong way. Ayrium should simply be Liege Barmi, not Perry D'Aur's excuse for also hanging onto other bits and pieces of the self-proclaimed Purple Alliance.

Di Mon replied, "I am Ditatt, one hundred and third liege of Monitum, known as Di Mon."

"We are not exactly prepared to host a peer of the empire," Ayrium continued with a touch of chagrin. "But if you are here on my father's business, you are nonetheless welcome."

"I bring a letter from D'Ander," Di Mon corrected her, offended. "My business is all Sevildom's, not solely his."

The ill humor he felt was also partly due to suffering zero-G.

"Court business, is it?" came Ayrium's excited reply. Transparency of feeling was a Golden trait which she seemed to have inherited from her sire. "I, uh, don't have a lot of court experience," she added awkwardly. "Is it okay to be addressing you in rel-peerage? I mean, since we're both Highlords and everything."

"Your grammar," Di Mon told her sourly, "is accurate. But I have news of both your parents and my time is limited. May I skid-in to Trinket Ring?"

"Oh," said Ayrium.

The tedious work of making a sub-light speed approach tried Vrellish patience. But a bungled skid-in would be fatal to all concerned. He was asking a great deal of her faith in his skill. And trusting she could prep station defenders to stand down in the face of what might otherwise be deemed an attack.

"All right," Ayrium decided, uncomfortably. "But you'd better take it easy. This station isn't up to Nersallian standards for structural integrity."

"Understood," Di Mon agreed.

Ayrium told him to wait until she got the required acknowledgement from ward ships. But even with this delay, penetrating into the usual challenge sphere of Trinket Ring while still under skim, saved Di Mon hours of coasting and cat clawing to make it to dock. He executed the tricky maneuver without raising so much as a tremor on the station's decks.

Ayrium stood waiting for him when he left the inner airlock. She was built like a Demish woman: breasts and hips packed into snug flight leathers with the jacket worn open to the sternum. She had an undershirt on beneath. There was sweat in her hair line, and her hands were soiled with grease from some equipment she had been working on. But she carried herself with a sword fighter's confidence despite her unVrellish deployment of body fat, and her large hands looked strong. Her Golden Demish inheritance shone in her eyes' sky blue brilliance, undiminished by the tell-tale facial mask of travel-bruising under the eyes, at her temples, and around her mouth. Her short-cropped hair reflected glints of gold.

In addition to her dueling sword, Ayrium also wore a projectile sidearm holstered under one arm. Di Mon's attention fixed on the gun with instant distrust and alarm.

"Is that an intended insult?" he asked in his most urbane manner.

Ayrium flushed pink. "Sorry!" she said, slipping the holster off to send it skidding away from her across the floor. "I forgot I was wearing it." She sealed up her flight jacket and wiped her hands. "We've had some trouble with the local population," she explained her faux pas. "Trinket Ring's occupants haven't all proved to be, uh, totally honorable."