Sex, the Stars & Princess Simla Page 2

  She nodded, “What an efficient little world you run. You’ll know about Duke Torzil’s broken arm then. I hope there won’t be charges.”

  “Serdan Dukes only come here to hunt our wild beasts. We tolerate them but they’re not very civilised and we wouldn’t have them at all if we didn’t have such a taste for Serdan wine.”

  “Good,” She threw her pack into the back of the ground-car and clambered in. Shap, not much bigger than his mistress, climbed in behind her, while Yaf took up the driver’s position.

  Reclining in the luxury of the cabin, Simla looked intently at the small curls of hair that fringed the nape of Yaf’s neck and decided they looked cute. “What about this one then?” she whispered to Shap, “Would he be suitable for a Princess of Old Earth?”

  Shap did not lower his voice. “He is a First Minister, an elected official and, therefore, unsuitable.”

  Yaf must have heard them for he twisted from his driver’s seat in front of them. “Actually, First Ministers of Pendor train for years just for the right to stand for election. We’re not aristocracy but our elections aren’t simply a popularity contest.”

  “But you are not of noble blood, sir?”

  Yaf turned back to his driving duties. “Pendor is a democratic meritocracy, friend android. There is no aristocracy here.”

  “Stop being such a snob, Shap,” Simla complained, “every Terran on the Twelve Worlds can claim royal blood if we go far enough back.”

  “I was referring to the nobility that arose after the galactic spread, mistress.”

  “Nobility, hah. Industrialists and business magnates with a penchant for fancy titles, that’s all they are, pompous little brigands. No, don’t argue with me.”

  The mechanical man seemed to stiffen. “Temporarily or permanently?”

  “Both. Hey, Yaf, am I dressed okay for a Presidential audience?”

  The First Minister twisted again. “We know little of Old Earth fashion, Simla. If that’s how Princesses are dressing this season, it’ll do us.”

  Simla looked down at her red, leather, kilt which reached mid-thigh, her thick tights and suede boots. It wasn’t the garb of a princess, but that of an explorer and that suited her.

  She stared out of the window at the city and wondered how humans could cross countless light years to alien planets and yet still retain the feel of Old Earth in their surroundings. There was a furniture store, a pharmacy, a barbers, and there would be exactly the same on all the Twelve Worlds. The people, too, walking the streets, were very human, with all the cares and failings of the race. Simla was proud of them, they had achieved so much, and yet she was bringing news that might mean their destruction.

  In the Presidential Palace Simla was hurriedly ushered to an audience room where the grey-haired and elderly President of Pendor awaited her. He bowed in the old manner and kissed her hand.

  “The First Minister can stay or withdraw, as you wish,” the President offered.

  Simla took a seat on the divan and beckoned Yaf to join her. “Let him stay. This has much to do with him. Much to do with all Pendorans.”

  “How is the Great Father?” the President asked politely.

  “Pops is fine. Been in post for forty years now and still winks at barmaids.”

  “As do I, young lady, though my wife disapproves.”

  The President sat opposite them and a flunkey brought coffee on a tray accompanied by pink confectioneries. Simla felt the President’s clever eyes assessing her.

  “So,” he said finally, “what brings a Princess of Old Earth halfway across the galaxy to our wild frontier? A Grand Tour, perhaps? A search for a husband?”

  Simla sipped daintily at her coffee. “Nothing so mundane, Lord President. I come by personal command of the Great Father.”

  “So the transmissions said. But no mention of your purpose. Is something amiss on Old Earth?”

  She nodded gravely. “Amiss, aye, and not just with Old Earth. The very future of the Terran race may be threatened.”

  The president looked startled. “What? Is there plague then?”

  Simla put down her cup. “In a way. A plague called the Riaz, an alien species.”

  The President frowned. “But we’ve encountered aliens before, the Bron, the Telfa. Primitive, medieval cultures. We leave them in their place and to their own devices.”

  “The Riaz are different. Intelligent, for a start, perhaps smarter than us. They have space-faring technology. Our probes to the Novi sector encountered them. From what we know they are humanoid, militaristic and expansionist. And they’re coming our way.”

  Yaf slapped his knee. “Damn, it’s just like a holo-fiction!”

  “It’s no fiction,” Simla continued. “They destroyed our first probes but then used them to communicate with us. Their words were honeyed, welcoming, they’d met no other intelligent species either and were pleased to make our acquaintance. But then one of our probes escaped their attentions and sent us back information about their true nature. The Riaz are conquerors and killers.”

  There was a long silent pause as the import of her words sank in.

  “Conquerors and killers?” Yaf seemed confused.

  “There is no doubt about it,” Simla said softly, “They regard themselves as the supreme beings of the universe and the only ones worthy of life.”

  “We shall stand, we are the sons of Old Earth,” The President grunted.

  “Scattered across the Twelve Worlds, with no armed forces save the militias of overbearing and self-centred princes? The Riaz are organised, their entire lives are devoted to military conquest; their weaponry far outstrips ours and they have armies by the million.”

  The President thumped his fist on the table. “We will come together. We shall build weapons, gather armies.”

  Yaf ignored his diatribe. “So, that is your mission, Simla, to canvass support for our defence? To rouse the descendant of Terra? Surely you could not have doubted that the sons of Old Earth would gather to protect their own.”

  “There are those who say that we Terrans have lost our drive,” Simla replied. “No new planets colonised in 200 years, exploration at a standstill. Are we become moribund, Yaf? That is what the Great Father wished to know.”

  “The Terrans shall rise,” the First Minister said emphatically.

  “You think so? What the Great Father feared was that every World would care only for their own interests and defense, instead of bonding together for the common good. This is my second port of call. The first was Coosol. Their Prime Minister asked what drove the Riaz, what they lacked in resources. He was sure the Twelve Worlds could fill that need and satisfy them. We have more than enough, he said.”

  “Buy them off?”

  “But the Riaz don’t lack for anything, as far as we can judge, and who knows what drives them. All we know is that they conquer and enslave, a naked lust for power.”

  “Thank God we have eliminated that,” The President mumbled.

  Simla heard him and jumped to her feet. “And lost all we were with it. Not a major scientific discovery of any worth in 50 years, not a war fought in 20 …”

  The President held up a finger in disagreement. “Not true, there was the Namel incident!”

  Simla grimaced. “A spat! Over the hand of a countess, and a fairly unattractive one at that. Three shots were fired and there were no casualties.”

  “The Coosol offered nothing then?” Yaf asked softly.

  “Less than nothing. They would take the information I brought under advisement.”

  Yaf tugged at his ear and Simla noticed that he had a deep dimple in his chin. “We are primarily an agricultural world, Simla,” he said, “and our army is mainly ceremonial, but our forests swarm with wild animals and we have many skilled hunters. I feel they will make excellent soldiers. We will not be found wanting.”

  She gave him a wry grin. “I thank you.”

  “But armies are one thing, and only Old Earth has ship yards to build a fl
eet.”

  “They are at work as we speak. Five thousand battle cruisers, one thousand attack destroyers, innumerable troop transports.”

  Yaf nodded grimly. “We will not desert our brothers and sisters. I place the entire resources of Pendor at the disposal of Old Earth. With your permission, of course, Mr President?”

  The old statesman snuffled. “It must go before the Council naturally, but in principle I have no objection.”

  Simla nodded gratefully, it was the most she had expected. “And now I must on to Jaip.”

  The President and First Minister sprang to their feet, one much faster than the other, but it was the older one that spoke. “So soon? We have a reception arranged. It’s not every day we have a Princess of Old Earth visit.”

  Suddenly Simla felt weary. She ran a hand through her long black hair and sighed. “I was told not to waste time.”

  “There is no ship to Jaip till tomorrow evening,” the First Minister said, consulting his wrist computer. “Why not rest a little, let us entertain you.”

  She stared through her eyelashes and nodded shyly. “Very well, but I must be on that ship tomorrow. The Riaz will not wait for my amusement.”

  III

  Simla wallowed in the deep bath in the Palace apartment they’d given her. It had been weeks gone since she’d had a soak, the last bath had been in her own apartment in her father’s palace on Old Earth. Subsequently there had been nothing but showers and though they ensured she was clean, there was no pleasure in them. Shap made a clumsy attempt at scrubbing her back but she missed the soft hands and twittering voices of her personal androids. Even a lowly domestic android would have made a better fist of it than Shap, whose hands were better designed for combat than soaping her golden brown skin. But, still, it was luxury compared to those ship-board showers. She soaped her soft pubic hair and slipped a finger into the cleft between her legs. That First Minister had looked interesting, would he be a good kisser? That was very important. She wondered what it was about him that attracted her. Nice face, good body, sense of humor, those were all positives, but there was something else. She slid a soapy finger up and down between her outer lips, a relaxed and easy self-pleasuring. It was his confidence, she decided, he was a man at ease with himself and that was a turn-on in itself. She found her clitoris and circled it lazily. There was no pressing urge for sexual release on her now and she was only toying with the notion of a climax. No, better just to take the moment for what it was, a little casual delight. But, damn, that man was hot!

  She stretched out and let her head rest on the lip of the vast bath.

  “Do not fall asleep, mistress.”

  “Don’t fuss, Shap.”

  “It is for your own good. I could allow you to sleep but you would be crabby when you awoke.”

  “Crabby? I am never crabby.”

  “I beg to differ. You frequently curse at me after an afternoon nap. I would regard that as being crabby.”

  Despite him she closed her eyes. “Are there any eligible men on Pendor?”

  “None, mistress.”

  She lifted one eyelid. “Too quick. Not even you had time to consult your database.”

  The android wasn’t fazed. “I have been consulting the database since we landed. I anticipated your request.”

  “The horny Princess’s reputation precedes me. Do I have any clothes for a Presidential reception, Shap?”

  “As you know, the pack you brought from Old Earth contains only four pairs of tights, three kilts, four tunics and two jerkins.”

  “You forgot the waterproof cape.”

  “I did not think that would be suitable for a reception.”

  “Guess I forgot the evening dresses.”

  “That is singular, mistress, you only own one and you’ve never worn it. But I’m sure our hosts would provide if you cared to ask.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that, Shap. A Terran Princess begging for a gown? I’m not here to give the fashionable ladies of Pendor a good laugh. Maybe I’ll just go naked and tell them it’s the latest fad on Old Earth. They’d be stripping off in minutes.”

  “The culture of Pendor would not accept the idea of nudity lightly. They are a generally reserved people.”

  “Damn them, spoiling all my fun. Throw me a robe.”

  Simla climbed from the bath and perching herself on the edge, dried herself leisurely. “I hope you’re not going to start exterminating people if I find somebody attractive at the reception.”

  “I act only in your defence, mistress.”

  “If I was to give First Minister, Yaf, a friendly peck on the cheek, would that set you off?”

  “A friendly peck on the cheek, as you put it, is not a threat. But if he attempted any further liberties I would be forced to act.”

  “He’s the First Minister of an entire planet, for God’s sake.”

  “His rank makes no difference.”

  “It would cause one hell of a diplomatic incident.”

  “I have the authority of your father.”

  “My father has no authority out here, Shap. They may call him the Great Father, but it’s only a ceremonial title as the elected leader of Old Earth’s people.”

  “Still. The peoples of the Twelve Worlds respect their roots and your father’s position. They would not accept any assault on his daughter.”

  “I don’t think Yaf would assault me. Seduce me, maybe. An arm round the waist, a kiss on the neck as we danced.” She thrilled at the thought.

  “The parameters for acceptable behaviour are in my programme. If they are breached I shall act.”

  “And break the poor man’s arm?”

  “I shall give him a verbal warning first, as I did with the Serdan Duke.”

  “People aren’t used to being given orders by androids, Shap.” She hugged the robe around her. “What to wear, what to wear?”

  “I could ask our hosts to supply some suitable apparel and claim your gowns were lost during our voyage here. This would ensure you were not mocked by the women of this planet.”

  Simla threw off the robe and advanced on her pack. “You’re too ready to tell lies, Shap. It makes me distrust you.”

  “The ability to lie is not normally programmed into an android’s neural net, mistress. But dissimulation is a necessary combat strategy. However, I would not lie to you.”

  “And I don’t want you lying to the Pendorans. I shall wear a tunic and kilt and damn their opinion. I’m not here to win any fashion contests.”

  The reception was held in the great hall of the Presidential Palace, an anachronism dressed in flock wallpaper and shimmering chandeliers. It mostly went as Simla had imagined as the great and good of Pendor lined up obediently to troop by her and shake her hand before gathering in little cliques to gossip, eat, drink and occasionally dance to some local music which Simla found dreadful. The men were upright and debonair and their ladies stylish and elegant, but Simla knew that her title outshone them all and made them ignore her shabby drab. There were a few attractive men but they kept their distance and Yaf informed her that the story of the Serdan Duke had spread quickly. She damned Shap’s aggression but to rub their noses in it, and because nobody else asked, she dragged the mechanical man onto the floor for a waltz. The effect, of the slender, long-legged, Princess and the stocky android, pirouetting around the floor caused a buzz but this was what Simla wanted. The gravity of Pendor was slightly lower than that of Old Earth and Shap, of course, never tired, so they saw several squadrons of partners from the floor before Yaf finally cut in and took her hand.

  “Not afraid of a broken arm?” she asked, smiling.

  “My intentions are honourable, Shap,” Yaf said, bowing to the android, “I merely wish to talk with your mistress.”

  “No ravishing then,” Simla said glumly.

  “The price is too high, I’m afraid. I swim for exercise, so I need my arms.”

  His dancing was a joy after the lumbering android and Simla didn’t feel much l
ike talking, but she knew her primary task was diplomatic. “What do you need to know, Yaf?”

  The First Minister hesitated, as if unsure of how to broach the subject. “This might seem rather strange, considering we’ve barely met, but I have a notion to accompany you on your vital mission, if you’ll have me.”

  She stepped back from his arms and looked him up and down. “I’m doing all of the inhabited Worlds. It will take months.”

  “I have vacation time coming. I’ll be with you as a civilian, but my name will carry some weight. We must make the other worlds move, and fast.”

  “And what of Pendor?”

  “We may be farmers, but we are also excellent bureaucrats. I have set the wheels in motion already. We are calling up men for training. We are stockpiling resources. We will be ready if these devils come.”

  Simla was glad that he’d caught the urgency of the situation. “You move fast, First Minister. You give me hope for our people.”

  Yaf gave a little bow. “So you have no objection to me joining you?”

  “None at all, I welcome it. Just don’t get fresh or Shap will kill you.”

  Yaf grinned. “Duly warned. But why didn’t your father send a political retinue with you in the first place. It seems to be asking a lot of a …”

  “A mere girl? I’ve been called worse, Yaf. But as I said, people on Terra don’t reckon the threat yet, just like that damn Coosoli and his buying them off. In any case, huge grandstanding might cause a panic and the Great Father wants us to be ready, not running around like headless chickens.”

  Yaf thought on this for a moment and then shook his head. “I tend to disagree. We might have to cause a panic to get some of these slug-a-beds to move, and better the people panic now than when alien troops are bombarding their homes.”

  She hadn’t thought of that and it gave her pause. Perhaps this handsome First Minister had picked up on something they’d missed. Was a sharp shock the best way to drag them from their complacency?

  “We have no fleet, only one old cruiser, the Robin, but the President has put it at my disposal. More importantly, it’s faster than any star-liner, and means we can proceed at our own pace rather than waiting for scheduled flights.”