B00CH3ARG0 EBOK by Christie Meierz Page B

banning humans from Tolari space, he’d offered to have the
unit removed to his guards’ communications plexus. She’d resisted the idea,
saying she wanted to have “as much of home” about her as she could. It did seem
to give her comfort, even after the unfortunate incident with Admiral Howard,
so he had not pressed her to remove it.
    Tapping a panel on the comms unit got him a notification
that a long-range communication was incoming. He stifled a snort and checked
his tablet to confirm it. The signal originated from the human-maintained space
station at the star they called Epsilon Indi. He rubbed his chin and nodded. They
were staying out of Tolari space this time. That was promising.
    After signaling a guard to close the door to the sleeping
room, he accepted the connection. The very surprised face of a human male appeared
on the monitor. The Sural waited. Had this human been briefed on the protocol
of communicating with a member of the Tolari ruling caste?
    “Sir,” the man said, in English.
    Apparently not.
    The Sural raised an eyebrow. Earth didn’t know that Marianne
was a member of the ruling caste, but they knew she was “married” to their
leader. Either this human had never been briefed – which he should have been, given
the circumstances – or he was pretending not to have been. Either case was an
insult.
    The human cleared his throat and began again, in heavily
accented Tolari. The Sural let his other eyebrow join the first. “High one, my
name is Michael Gould. I call on behalf of Earth Central Command. We attempt to
contact Citizen Marianne Woolsey, but she fails to answer her comms. Will you honor
us, high one, and inform us where she is?”
    The Sural waited, keeping the amusement off his face. As the
silence stretched, comprehension dawned on the human’s face. The man swallowed
and remained silent, lips pressed into a thin line.
    The Sural finally broke his silence. “Speak,” he commanded.
    The man’s face took on an almost nauseated expression. The
Sural suppressed more amusement. Most humans were not accustomed to waiting for
permission to speak.
    “High one,” Gould said, carefully, “you honor me. I request
permission to have conversation with Citizen Marianne Woolsey.”
    “No.”
    Gould swallowed again and looked up past the screen, at some
unseen prompter.
    “Central Command needs proof of life, high—”
    “You need what?” He let menace into his voice.
    Gould backpedaled. “We are concerned for her. Her family is
concerned for her. They want to give her their love and best wishes.”
    “Marianne has no living relations.”
    Gould went pale. “High one, I—”
    “—merely speak the words you are being told to speak.”
    The man gave an almost imperceptible nod and swallowed hard.
    “You think it appropriate to address the ruler of Tolar by
parroting the words of another?”
    He paled a little more, went still, and straightened, looking
directly into the monitor. “No, high one, I do not,” he said in a firmer voice.
    The Sural allowed himself a thin smile. This human had some
courage after all.
    “High one, if Marianne lives—”
    “ If ?” He let danger creep into his voice again.
    “—why may I not speak to her?”
    The Sural was silent for a long moment. The man fidgeted and
tapped his thumbs together. When he stopped fidgeting, the Sural asked, “Are
you aware what part of the day it is in my stronghold? My wife ,” he used
the English word, “is expecting a child. I will not disturb her rest.”
    Gould punched a button on his desk and glanced at his
monitor once – then again – then took a deep breath. “High one, I offer—”
    The monitor went blank. The Sural rubbed his chin. He did
not think the man Michael Gould had broken the connection.
    * * *
    Michael Gould swallowed. This just wasn’t a good day. First
the Sural. Now the hard-nosed new head of field ops. Rumor had it she was so
devoted to Central Command that she’d sacrificed her