The Rhoedraegon Chronicles: Book Two. Paul Sr. Alcorn
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the window just right to reflect his own image back at him and it was a sorry sight. His shock of light brown hair, never cooperative at its best, now exploded from the top of his head like a fountain, his eyes were slightly sunken from lack of sleep, accentuated by bags developing under each, and the disheveled state of his clothes made him look more like a rag doll than a young, fit Noble. Mathew sighed, refocused on the peaceful scene, somewhat distorted by the curvature of his window and thought to himself how appropriate it was that this view was as off kilter as he himself. He turned away and sat again in front of his com which automatically reactivated itself as he did.
He looked at the screen, watching the flashing signal in the upper right corner, urgently requesting his attention. Absently, he closed the data screen and stared at the worried face of Lars Sanburg, his director of operations at the Bay of Naples facility.
“Your pardon, My Lord,” the harried Sanburg said. “I do not like to disturb you, but we’ve another case of sabotage.”
“What’s happened?” Mathew said, cursing to himself.
“They’re becoming more blatant. The shipping bay was incinerated at 9:00 P.M. local time. It’s all gone.”
“How many units did we lose?” Mathew asked without thinking.
“Three hundred were destroyed. Fortunately, the bay was almost empty.”
Mathew thought for a moment. “Something’s not right. If they could thermal the bay, they could have easily destroyed the entire production section. Why just the bay?”
Sanburg looked at him blankly
“Well, that’s a question we’ll have to answer, isn’t it? How badly will it disrupt shipments to the colonies?”
“We’ll be down about five days, I think,” Sanburg said quickly. Obviously he’d already been working on solving the problem.
“That’s too long,” Mathew said to himself. “Reprogram two of the housing units to reproduce the shipping bay. That should speed things up.”
Sanburg looked uncomfortable, like a small boy afraid to tell his father that he’d just killed the family cat.
“What is it, Lars?” Mathew said.
“Sir, I’m not comfortable with performing the conversion. I’d appreciate your assistance…”
Mathew nodded and gave him a slight smile. “I’ll be there in four hours. Move two units into place and I’ll work out the programming on the way.”
Sanburg’s shoulders slumped slightly as he relaxed. Mathew couldn’t be sure if it was because of the impending help or because he was relieved that Mathew didn’t reprimanded him. The production super was under tremendous pressure and his natural tendency to take responsibility for everything that happened ‘on his watch’ was one of the characteristics that had moved Mathew to place him in charge in the first place.
Mathew killed the connection and leaned back. He thought for a moment and initiated another call. “Helson,” he said to no one and the vid comm immediately responded. In less than ten seconds his brother’s face appeared on the screen.
Helson was sprawled on a great circular bed and wearing a long scarlet dressing gown. To his left Mathew could see the sleeping Wendy, her bare shoulders and slender back plainly visible above the white covers. There were scratches and a small bruise on her back. In Mathew’s mind, there was no doubt that Helson was once again rubbing it in.
“Little brother, you’re not supposed to disturb a man on his honeymoon, you know.”
“Sorry. I forgot what time it is there. In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t know where ‘there’ is.”
“I’m in bed with my bride, as you can plainly see. What do you want?” growled his brother. Mathew was glad that he had only a two dimensional view of the bedroom. A full holo would have been more than he needed right now.
“I wanted to speak to you privately, if I could.”
“This is private enough, Mathew. What do you want?”
“It’s about your, um, guest.”
Helson looked at him blankly for a moment and then a look of recognition crossed his face.
“You mean Archer?”
Mathew looked nervously over at the still sleeping Wendy, wondering what Helson was thinking, speaking so frankly with his wife lying in bed next to him.
“Um, yes. I was wondering if I could borrow her for a few days.”
Again Helson looked blank and again a sudden look of realization crossed his face. There was more going on here than simply figuring out what Mathew was saying. Helson was famous for moving beyond the obvious. He had already developed some scheme, probably in great detail, that would allow him to use this moment to his advantage.
“You want to borrow her, little brother? May I ask why?”
“I’m going to be at the Bay of Naples facility for three or four days. I thought she might enjoy seeing a bit more of the world. She’s very provincial. I think it would broaden her experience.”
Helson laughed loudly, causing Wendy to shift, groan and roll over long enough to punch him in the side. “What you mean is you need some feminine companionship, isn’t it? She is a beauty, isn’t she? And as for broadening her experience, I think I did a pretty good job of that already!”
Mathew tried to smile and simply nodded. It was easier than trying to convince his brother that he meant what he had said. From Helson’s point of view, the only uses of a female were either political or sexual. With his new bride it was both.
“Well this is good timing, little brother. Wendy and I were talking about Archer earlier. My wife informs me that I have to get rid of my mistresses for the moment. It’s not very good form to keep them when one just got married. It creates serious problems with public image.”
Mathew said nothing. He knew full well that Helson didn’t give a damn about public image. Wendy was a different matter. If she was forcing him to give up his mistress (did he say mistresses? Plural?), then she was a strong woman indeed.
“You can have her,” Helson said abruptly. “She’s yours. Consider it a wedding gift from us to you. I think I owe you that much for stealing your fiancé. Please have her moved out of her apartments within twenty four hours. I’ll contact Hans and make the arrangements.”
Before Mathew could protest the com went dead.
“Dear God,” he said aloud. “Now what do I do?”
Mathew heard a chirping sound, coming from the direction of the bedroom. He stood and walked from the small office he had installed in his Bay Area Complex quarters to the larger sleeping quarters where a small bulbous form lay sprawled on the bed, its head raised in question.
“Shamreel, we’ve got a problem,” he said.
Shamreel squawked again, more plaintively this time. Mathew swore that that animal could read his mind, or his emotions at a minimum. She rolled over at an impossible angle, her long straight tail bracing her as she stood in the middle of the bed and looked at her master.
This was no ordinary pet. Shamreel was a genetically engineered throwback, a true dinosaur about three feet in height, with large muscular hind legs and small but functional forearms. She was currently a mottled gray, though she could change her hue at will, like a chameleon and she could shift from an almost pure white through most of the colors of the spectrum to a dark gray. Her response to emotions seemed to be the triggering factor. For the moment, the mottled gray indicated concern and caution but not fear. Shamreel was technically a Saltopus, the only one of her kind, and she was Mathew’s constant companion. Interestingly enough, she had never liked Wendy but had taken immediately to Archer, something she did not often do with females.
“I’ve just been given a mistress. Now