Beyond fate, there is choice
by Ainzfern
20
Two weeks later
The weather was always congenial in the southern continents of New-Vincentia, Chey Neeson noted as he strode down a gently sloping hillock towards a little hamlet of neat pre-fabricated buildings surrounding a large but evidently methodically ordered dig-site.
He smiled as he neared the hamlet, as the faces of the various career archeologists, students and volunteers became recognizable. He sought with purpose, homing in on the tall, raw-boned and slightly graying woman who was currently in charge of the dig-site, a well respected federation historian and archeologist named Charlotte Whitmore. Charlotte was a renowned scholar and a gifted teacher – useful on a site with so many students. She knew her craft back to front and she was a competent people-manager into the bargain. Plus, Chey knew through the experience of working with her in the past on other projects, that she had a backbone of steel and a set of brass balls approximately the size of Amoi's twin moons, which made her one of the few candidates for the job who would possibly be able to handle the on-site consultant representing the Tanagura Syndicate's department of antiquities.
Hunkering down at the edge of her pit, Chey nodded at Charlotte as she looked up and grinned at him. "Hello, Charlie," he greeted her by her old nickname. "Mud pies again, is it?"
"Better than sand, old man," Charlotte grunted, hauling herself up out of the pit and reaching out to shake his hand firmly, leaving a fair smear of mud behind, Chey noted in passing.
"You don't like sand?"
"Hate the wretched stuff." Charlotte arched back and stretched for a moment, pressing her hands to her lower back. "Gets up in the cracks, you know?"
Chuckling, Chey stood and looked fondly into the sharp black eyes peering at him from her wizened face.
Charlotte smirked at him for a moment, before arching one eyebrow. "So... what the hell are you doing here?" she asked bluntly. "Aren't you supposed to still be shining up the ass of your pants on the front bench of the senate?"
"Leave of absence for a couple of weeks," Chey replied, gazing around the site once more. "I had it owning to me."
"Hmm." Charlotte's eyes narrowed knowingly.
"So," Chey turned back to her once more. "How's it going?"
"Oh fine, fine," Charlotte grinned, lifting one bony shoulder. "Even 'His Royal Majesty the Consultant of Amoi' has started to settle in."
Chey snorted gracelessly. "That's what you're calling him?"
"Only behind his back," Charlotte waved a hand dismissively. "To his face, I'm a lot more disrespectful."
"I'm sure he rather likes that."
"Strangely enough, he does." Charlotte turned to face him, her hands on her skinny hips. "Now, please tell me that you're going to take him off the site for at least a couple of days," she continued, half joking, half deadly seriou. "The students are all terrified of him, and even my staff won't go near him. They need a break, Chey. I mean, the man knows his stuff, don't get me wrong... but the bitching?! He even surpasses me, and that's on one of my good days!"
"I'll see what I can do," Chey murmured, manfully attempting to hide his amusement.
"It's not funny, Chey," her eyes narrowed. "You were the one who helped our precious government to wrangle him in here, so you can deal with him for at least forty eight hours, you hear me?"
"Yes Ma'am," Chey nodded at her. "Can you point me in the right direction?"
Charlotte jerked an irritated thumb in the direction of one of the larger pre-fabs set close to the edge of the main dig. She jumped back down into her pit, sorting through her tools, before glancing up at him again. "At least forty eight hours, Chey. Deal?"
Chey grinned at her again. "Deal," he nodded by way of farewell and strode across to the building she had indicated, stopping just upon the threshold and leaning against the doorframe as he watched the Elite in the centre of the compact shelter working away at a desk littered with site samples and recording equipment.
Tahna Lam, Chey thought to himself with a slight smile, had undergone quite a transformation since arriving at New-Vincentia, at least by appearances. Gone were the fine fabrics and luxurious layers normally worn by the Blondie. In their place, in deference to the mild weather and the conditions of the site itself, Tahna was dressed in simple fitted breeches of soft camel-colored fabric, and a flowing white shirt of light linen with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was pulled back loosely to the nape of his neck and hung in a thick plait down his back.
He was bent over a low sided square container of what appeared to be some manner of cleaning fluid or chemical mix as he worked intently with long-nosed tweezers and a delicate brush, patiently removing eons of dirt from the surface of some delicate little object. A small lock of hair had worked its way loose from his plait and now hung over his face and, every now and then, Tahna would absently blow on it when it got in the way as he worked.
Tickled by the strangely endearing picture of concentration Tahna made, Chey began to chuckle softly.
Immediately, Tahna's head snapped up. His expression, just for an instant, was one of genuine delight at seeing Chey standing there. Almost as quickly, the Blondie recovered himself, one elegant brow lifting, his eyes hardening, and his rich mouth pursing into a haughty little moue of irritation. "You find something funny, Neeson?" he snapped out.
Chey shook his head, moving into the room towards the Elite. "No, just appreciative of the view." He looked with interest at the beautiful objects laid out on a soft velvet cloth beside the container. Items Tahna had obviously previously dealt with prior to cataloging them. "So, is it everything you had hoped?"
Tahna laid his tools down with deliberate care before pinning Chey with a flat look. "Well, let me think..." he tilted his head, his expression artfully insincere in it mock-politeness. "If I had actually wanted to be landed into a location where I was not allowed to bring my usual retinue; where the facilities are nonexistent, the accommodations are less than substandard and the food appears to have already been eaten once, then yes... it would indeed have been everything I had hoped for."
"I meant the dig itself, Tahna," Chey replied mildly.
"Oh." Tahna shrugged. "Yes. Well. It's actually stunning, but then you knew that before you asked me to come here."
"I suppose I did."
"But I must tell you, it's almost not worth the sheer horror of the rest of it." Tahna flicked the errant lock of hair back with one slender hand.
Rounding the desk to stand beside him, Chey let his fingers drift gently over the sparking jeweled pieces laid out on the black velvet cloth. "Well," he said lightly. "It just so happens that I have some free days available. What would you say to a few days in the main city? Fine restaurants? An art gallery or two? Loafing around in a disgustingly opulent hotel?" He picked up Tahna's long-nosed tweezers and looked interestedly at them.
Almost absently, Tahna took them off him and put them back on the desk, his eyes narrowing knowingly. "Charlie told you to get me out of here for while, didn't she?"
Chey smiled blandly at him. "Yes, she did."
"Hah." Tahna tossed his head disdainfully. "She's just sick of me making all her students cry, that's all."
"How many this morning, just out of interest?"
"Four," Tahna frowned slightly. "Although, it could rightfully be counted as five, seeing as how one of them cried twice."
"You still haven't answered," Chey noted quietly.
Tahna sighed. "Oh... very well, then." His expression became slightly wicked then, as he smiled almost smugly at the tall and handsome man before him. "You do realize, don't you, that you're practically starting to court me?" he asked mischievously.
Calmly, and with not so much as a hint of self-consciousness, Chey nodded at him. "Yes. I do."
"Oh." The Elite's beautiful violet eyes widened slightly.
"Does it worry you?"
Rallying magnificently, Tahna snorted softly at him. "If anyone should be worried, Chey, I would say it should be you." His smile returned, slightly shaded with wicked humor. "You really have no idea what you're getting into."
"I'm sure you're right." Chey patted Tahna's cheek lightly, his face filled with affection and amusement. "But just think of all the fun I'm going to have finding out." He stepped back, looking expectantly at the Blondie. "Pack your things, dear... I have a transport waiting."
Tahna stared at him for a moment before, with an almost appalled little huff; he turned and went to do just that.
Epilogue
Two months after Blaine Dal's death
A tall and dignified Sapphire Elite stood upon the balcony of his mid-level apartment in Eos Tower, gazing up at the twin moons in the night sky and occasionally taking an appreciative sip of the fine vintage in the glass he held with one elegant hand.
Laron Tak was waiting, with quite uncharacteristic patience for an Elite, for his youngest and incidentally his only remaining Pet to join him. Of course, the delay was understandable in this case. He had, after all, requested that his Pet be dressed for an 'occasion'. According to his Furniture, apparently such a thing took time to achieve.
Setting his half empty glass down on one of the small tables that were placed around the balcony, Laron sighed softly, running the long fingers of one hand through his mane of dark hair.
To an outside observer not familiar with the unique physical attributes of the Amoian Elites, the man's hair might have seemed an extraordinary color. A deep cobalt blue, hanging in a luxuriously thick curtain down to his lean waist, and shimmering richly in the light spilling from the interior of the apartment through the doors behind him. It was, however, actually a common enough shade for hair amongst the Elite.
The real rarity of course, Laron smiled wryly as his picked up his glass and drained it with one swallow, was blonde.
But he liked the color of his hair, always had; even if at times, the caste that it represented had held him back. Now, of course, his leader's latest step in his social reform program would soon mean that the coloring of an Elite would no longer contribute to any limitation of his social or professional achievements.
Only lack of aptitude would be able to do that; Laron smiled again. He was quite looking forward to the opportunity to compete with both Blondies and Platinas on their own turf. He knew he had a genuine talent as an administrator and, if Iason Mink was true to his word – which, quite frankly, had become an accepted given these days – then Laron would soon be scaling the proverbial ladder at light speed. Of course, Laron tilted his head slightly, his expression reflecting his deep pondering; Mink's reforms meant that talented lower color castes could also now compete with him... which only went to show that every silver lining had the occasional cloud.
Snorting softly, the pensive Elite lifted his large and luminous eyes to the twin moons again. Right now, upon the cusp of what Laron Tak considered to be a most welcome change, he felt that the future which lay before him was more resplendent with opportunities than ever before.
In fact, there was really only one more thing he required to make it practically perfect...
Considering that thought, Laron pressed the fingertips of one hand to the inside breast pocket of his sash-coat, tracing the lines of a folded document. For a moment, just the briefest second, anyone who knew Laron might well have sworn that the expression that flickered across his beautiful face was actually nervous.
Hearing a soft step approaching from the open apartment doors behind him, Laron turned, a small but genuinely warm smile appearing as his own deep blue eyes met the soft dark-eyed gaze of his Pet.
"Esra," he murmured in quiet greeting.
Small and delicately featured, with dark hair falling in soft waves around his slender shoulders and his huge and fey brown eyes filled with transparent adoration, Esra looked up into his master's face. "Is my appearance suitable, Master Laron?" he asked, his voice as gentle and affecting as his appearance.
"You are quite lovely, Esra," Laron replied. "As always."
Esra blushed for a moment, lowering his eyes as he accepted the compliment with appropriate humility.
Reaching out to touch his Pet's warm skin, to stroke the satin smoothness of his white neck, Laron considered the young man before him. Only barely turned eighteen years of age, Esra was the sole remaining Pet in Laron's household. The Elite's other two Pets, a male and female, had been offered the chance to go to Hepstra just after their nineteenth birthdays had fallen within a week of each other, and they had accepted. Laron had long privately suspected that the fondness the pair held for each other was deeper than convention dictated, thus he was happy to let them go rather than deal with any acts of discipline. He was just as certain that, by the time the pair arrived at their new home, they would be disembarking as official partners, rather than single ex-Pets.
He really did not mind. In fact, he wished them well. They had pleased him in their time as his chattel, so he felt nothing but good regard for them at any rate.
But Esra... Esra was the one Pet he still had.
And he would also be the last.
Taking a deep breath, Laron curled his hand around the back of Esra's slender neck and drew him close, tucking him into the circle of his arm, smiling when he felt the young man move into his warmth. "You've grown so in the last few years," he noted softly, glancing down as Esra looked up at him questioningly. "You're nearing the age of maturity, now."
Esra's face grew very still. It actually pained Laron's heart to see the expression of fear that his Pet wasn't quite able to conceal.
But, no matter. Hopefully, he would not be wearing it for long.
Reaching with his free hand inside his sash-coat, Laron pulled out the document concealed there and held it loosely. "I have some questions for you, Esra," he said seriously. "And I would wish you to answer me as honestly as you can. Understand that, no matter what you say, there will be no punishment."
Esra's gentle eyes grew wide as he nodded in silence.
"Firstly," Laron held his Pet's gaze. "Given the choice... would you prefer to move to Hepstra like Kati and Dahn did? Or would you prefer to stay with me?"
One of Esra's hands lifted to slowly grasp the fabric of Laron's sash-coat, his long fingers twisting it in his sudden anxiety. "I would stay with you, Master Laron."
Laron smiled. "Then... if I told you I did not wish you to perform as a Pet anymore, that I would be removing those duties, would you be disappointed?"
"I..." Esra wet his lips, frowning as he considered it. "I don't think that I would, but..." he hesitated.
"Go on," Laron urged him.
"I would wonder what I might do instead." Esra shrugged unhappily. "What my purpose would be."
"We would find something," Laron assured him, tightening his hold around the young man a little. "And, as for your role in the household..." he handed Esra the document, "this, my dear-heart, is a Companion contract. If you chose to sign it, you would no longer be my property; you would be my mate."
With a trembling hand, Esra took it from him, his breath short with stunned surprise and his eyes filling with sudden moisture. "Oh," he whispered, staring at it in something close to wonder. "Oh, my..."
"Does this notion please you?" Laron found that, against all odds, he was almost holding his breath as he waited for the reply.
The smile that rose on Esra's face answered his questions more completely than any words could have. With relief filling his chest, Laron turned to face his soon to be ex-Pet, gripping those slender shoulders gently.
"Esra?" he prompted softly.
Esra nodded. "I just have one question..."
"Yes?"
The young man laughed softly, his face filled with profound joy. "Do you have a pen?"
The End