Rogue (12 page)

"I hope you can become accustomed to it," she said, and her sincerity was evident. "It's... nice having someone here who's been to other planets and isn't one of us. Mother says she enjoys the diversity of having offworlders here, and I tend to agree. I hope to learn more from you than how to play the piano."

"Well, you're not going to learn even that much if I don't get up and teach you," I said, making the gargan-tuan effort just to sit up. "Come on, then. Let's see if you can play, shall we?"

We left Tychar where he was, and I fought the urge to throw a sheet over him, but decided he was probably warm enough. And Zealon was right; he did look pretty when he was asleep.

I sat Zealon down on the piano bench, and unlike a concert pianist who
wore
tails, she actually
had
one. It looked like something out of a bizarre dream to see her sitting there, running her odd fingers over the keys.

"Now, the first thing to be able to find is middle C,"

I began. "Right here," I said, striking a key, "to the left of this set of two black keys. Everything else revolves around that point." I showed her how the fingering worked, giving each of her fingers a number designa-tion—fortunately, she had four fingers and a thumb, or we'd have had to redesign a lot of things.

I set her to practicing scales, just like any other student, and noted that while she was dexterous enough, the pads of her fingertips were almost too large to avoid striking more than one key at a time. But she had a decent reach—better than mine, though not as much as Wazak's would have been had he played. He probably could have played a duet with himself!

After standing over her for a while and offering a bit of praise and encouragement, I left her to practice and drifted over to the window, which had a seat beneath it like the one in my bedroom. I sat gazing out over the trees, thinking to myself that beings were much the same the galaxy over, they only looked different.

But what would it be like to be intimate with an alien?

I couldn't imagine why Scalia would want to have sex with a toad, and while Refdeck might be
able
to do it, why would he want to, either? The only male Darconian I'd had much contact with thus far was Wazak, and when I looked at him, desire for sex was absolutely the very
last
thing on my mind, and I doubted that he felt any desire for me, either. They were too different from humans— unlike the Zetithians, who were quite similar, save for a few superficial differences.

And the tigers certainly were, to use their own description, enticing! And that line about giving me joy unlike any I had ever known—was that a standard line which had been used on females of their species down through the ages, or had Tychar come up with it himself?

Trag hadn't said it word for word, but even though he hadn't been raised on Zetith, he'd said something similar, like he knew something I didn't. I couldn't imagine how much different sex could be with them as opposed to another human, but I had an idea that my curiosity might get the better of me at some point—and this was aside from the fact that they were both irresistible. I will admit here that any sexual relations I'd ever had before had usually not come about as the result of my own in-stigation, nor had the episodes been frequent or particularly pleasant. I had an idea that with Tychar, it would at least be memorable.

Still, the ethics of my current situation were troubling to me. I was so strongly attracted to him, but I wasn't sure just what it would take to forget my reservations and get me to take the plunge.

If I spent enough time on Darconia, I knew that I would become accustomed to the climate, as well as its inhabitants—Tychar and Trag, included. It was only natural that I'd be curious, if not intrigued by them. It was simply the novelty of having sex with someone different—and sex with an alien was just about as different as you could get—which was probably why Scalia did it.

It wasn't love and perhaps not even lust. Just curiosity.

I wasn't quite so jaded—at least, not yet—because I was still holding out for love, and while Tychar
claimed
to be looking for love, Trag only seemed attracted to me because of my scent. Of course, what it all boiled down to was that they were both highly sexual beings who hadn't gotten any in the past twenty years. I couldn't say that for myself, but I
had
gone my entire life without a grand passion. It could have been that I simply didn't have it in me to ever let myself experience such things, but when I played a Mozart concerto, I got an inkling of the way it was supposed to feel, and I knew that I never had.

Giving Zealon a few more instructions, I left her briefly and then looked in on Tychar, who was now awake and in the process of making my bed—yet another thing no man had ever done for me. A discordant note from the other room provided the likely reason that he wasn't able to sleep, but I also noticed that he was humming the scale and grimacing whenever she missed a note. Obviously, he was no stranger to music, which made me wonder about the music they might have had on his own world.

How many songs, how much history, how many souls would be lost with the destruction of an entire planet?

Every culture had its own unique music. When I thought of the hundreds of musical pieces that I had ever played, and the multitude of others that I had only heard, I felt an overwhelming sadness for all of those songs of Zetith— love songs, ballads, symphonies, silly little children's ditties, raunchy drinking songs, reverent anthems, even funeral dirges—all that might have been lost, never to be heard again. The loss of the people, themselves, was tragic enough, but their entire culture—all that they had learned, had worked for, had lived and died for—was lost as well, and it saddened me beyond belief.

Tychar looked up just then, and seeing my tragic expression, he must have assumed that it was Zealon's less than beautiful efforts at the piano which were responsible.

Chucking in amusement, he said, "Her playing is not so bad, Kyra. She will improve."

"I know," I said quietly. "It isn't that." Actually, it was thinking about him that was making me sad, but it wasn't something that I felt I could admit at the time. "I heard you humming," I said instead. "Do you enjoy music?"

"Yes," he replied. "But not Darconian music."

"I haven't heard any," I remarked. "Is it really that bad?"

"I don't believe you would call it music," he said with a glimmer of a smile. Noting my look of surprise, he added, "I heard you playing this morning. Darconian music is very... different."

"You liked what I played, then?"

"Yes, I did," he replied. "You play very well."

"Thank you," I said, the warmth of his smile causing me to blush. My playing had been praised before, but for some reason, it meant more coming from him. "Do you—" I paused as I considered the best way to ask, but decided that there was no easy way. "Do you remember any songs from your own world?"

He nodded, but gave me no clue as to how he might feel about sharing them.

"Would you sing them for me sometime?" I went on.

"I'd like to hear them."

He looked at me curiously, as if not quite sure why I would ask, but I thought I saw a trace of suspicion there, too. "I don't remember them very well," he said evasively.

"Well, just think about it, then," I said. "I'm not going anywhere—at least, not for a while. You know where to find me."

Tychar left the bedside and crossed the floor to where the pitcher stood, pouring out a glass of water which he then brought to me, his own expression carefully neutral. "You did not drink when you arose," he said.

"What? Oh—no, I suppose I didn't," I said, momentarily confused. "No, wait a minute, I did, but you were still asleep. Thanks for reminding me, though, because I sure don't want Wazak fussing at me all the time!"

"He was not fussing at
you,"
Tychar said, borrowing that distinctively Terran expression from me, though I doubted he'd ever heard it before. "He was fussing at
me."

"Humph! Like it was all your fault." I took the glass anyway and took a long drink, only then noticing how thirsty I was.

"Your welfare is my responsibility," he said in a wooden voice.

I took another sip and decided to find out why he was acting so stiff. "Is something wrong? You changed the subject just now," I said, scrutinizing him closely. "Why?"

A variety of emotions washed over his feline features before he seemed to withdraw further into himself, his eyes not quite meeting my own. "I am... uncomfortable discussing what I remember of Zetith," he said.

Only then did I recall our earlier conversation. "And stupid me, I forgot I wasn't going to mention it again!" I said ruefully. "I'm sorry, Tychar, I—I wasn't thinking! But you know, even though music might be one of the more painful things to remember about a lost world, it's also one of the more meaningful things to try to preserve."

He appeared to consider this, but then winced as Zealon hit another sour note from the adjoining room.

"You've obviously got a good ear," I remarked. "Can you sing?"

He shrugged in reply, as nearly everyone does when asked that question. No one ever thinks they can sing— even some highly paid professionals.

"Well, what if I teach you some Earth songs," I suggested, "and then we'll see about the songs of Zetith."

He nodded briefly and went on with his work. He would do whatever I told him to, of course—would sing every song he knew if I demanded it of him—but I thought it best to let it be his idea, rather than mine.

And since we'd be together for the greater part of each day, there would be plenty of opportunities for me to encourage him to change his mind.

Meanwhile, I thought Zealon had gone on long enough for a first lesson, so I sent her on to do whatever it was she normally did at that hour, but, surprisingly, she elected to stay there in my room. I thought it was a bit odd, but perhaps it was simply because she was lonely.

"Ever go out?" I asked her. "Or is a princess stuck in the castle all the time?"

"Takes an armed squadron for me to go out," she grumbled. "The closest I ever get to freedom is sneaking off to visit the slave quarters."

"I think that's just about the best example of irony I've ever heard," I said dryly. "But it
is
a nice place.

Tychar took me there this morning," I added.

"Yes, it is beautiful," Zealon agreed. "And you're right, it's pretty ironic that I would feel free in one of the most secure areas of the palace, but that's the way it is.

Maybe it's because Mother doesn't want me spending time with her slaves—or even to know they exist—but it's about the most fun I ever have."

"A touch of rebellion always adds spice to a young person's life," I conceded. "But surely you aren't alone a/7 the time."

She shrugged. "I see a few people from outside sometimes—we get the occasional visitors from other planets, which are becoming more frequent nowadays—but I don't get the chance to spend much time with others of my own age."

I nodded. No wonder she seemed so mature!

"And slaves, guards, and servants are all you've got as companions?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"But not like having friends of your own, is it?"

"No, but I've learned lots of interesting things from them. For instance, did you know that Trag used to be a pilot on a space freighter?"

"No, I didn't."

"Well, he was," she declared. "Says he can fly anything."

Tychar was on the other side of the room, dusting the furniture with a scrail cloth, but I heard him make an odd sound. I couldn't tell if he was laughing or had choked on the dust he was raising—though there didn't seem to be much of it in the air, since scrail was pretty effective at trapping dirt.

"Care to comment on that, Tychar?" I asked.

"Trag might have been able to fly anything twenty years ago," he replied. "But I doubt if that would be true now."

"Technology
does
change," I agreed. "But the basic principles would stay the same, wouldn't they?"

"Possibly," he conceded.

"And you were a soldier, weren't you?" Zealon ventured. Tychar nodded his reply, and she went on. "So if someone handed you a pulse pistol, you'd know what to do with it, wouldn't you?"

"It's true that I was once a soldier," he said warily.

"But that was a very long time ago."

Looking at him then, I'd have had to say he didn't look as if he'd ever been one. Oh, sure, the strong-looking muscles were still there, and there was something about the way he carried himself that suggested it, but, let's face it: he had hair down to his waist, was nude except for his two jeweled collars, and he was dusting my room, for heaven's sake! He looked fabulous, of course, but certainly not like any soldier I'd ever seen. Still, looks can be deceiving.

Tychar must have noticed me staring at him, because his eyes met mine just then and, lowering his eyelids ever so slightly, sent a suggestive little grin in my direction— which hit me right between the thighs and made me wish that Zealon would disappear so I could spend the rest of the afternoon playing with my new slave boy. That smile of his did the strangest things to me! I decided I would simply have to forbid him to smile at me anymore, but that would mean depriving myself of one of the few perks that went along with this job. Living in the palace and having plenty of free time was okay, and the Steinway was a dream, but I had an idea that once I'd learned my way around and wasn't fainting all the time, it could get pretty boring. So far, having Tychar and Trag around was what had made it interesting. I'd have to do a lot of piano playing myself or develop some other sort of hobby; otherwise, I'd be as lonely as Zealon. This was possibly why Scalia had hired me to begin with—not as a subject in a breeding program, but as a companion for her daughter. Still, she'd given me Tychar...

My mind wandered a bit. Zealon had changed the subject and was now chattering on about the piano and how much she liked playing it. I nodded absently, because what I was thinking about was playing a different instrument entirely. In my mind, I was exploring Tychar's body, massaging his back and shoulders, pinching his buns, running my fingers through his hair—and that was just the back side of him! Rolling him over, I would find even better parts: his lips, his eyes, and, of course, that incredible cock. I imagined lying on the bed between his legs, licking and sucking and pumping it with my hands until he came in my face. I could almost feel the heat of his thick, luscious semen as it hit me right in the mouth and ran down my chin. Then it occurred to me that this was probably the part of him that would taste sweet...