I hope this is okay,” Mort said to Izo as he led their group inside the Tablaeu D’Ciel. “It’s probably one of the nicest places on the Mountain,” and, hence, the universe. “But we can go somewhere else if you want.”
Stepping out into the lush, open restaurant, the group looked around in amazement. Between its cloud-grazing location, wall-to-wall windows, and understated interior elegance, there was something unspeakably magical about the monochrome space. Decked in white-columned walls, tables, and leather chairs—occupied by the usual crowd of guests—it sported as decoration only two large sculptures trimmed with blue jewels on either side of the restaurant, both situated on opposite balconies.
“Oh, I get it.” Izo nodded as Mort led them to a private room reserved for VIPs near the back. “It’s supposed to look like heaven, right?”
“I don’t know about this heaven place, but I can assure you this is a completely original design.” Mort shrugged. “But back to what I wanted to talk about: this weird issue you have with sex.”
Izo sighed. “Mi problema isn’t with sex. It’s who sex is with.”
Mort turned to walk backward in front of the youth, trying to catch his eye, but the Avarian was being obstinate and refusing to meet Mort’s gaze. It was cute. “Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Short and angry—”
“Yes, tall and rapey?”
Mort smiled as he continued walking backward. “That was good. That was quick.”
The Avarian looked away.
Mort stopped short. The Avarian, who hadn’t been watching, ran into him. Mort grunted with delight. It seemed there was a tight little frame hiding under all those loose-fitting clothes. He grabbed Izo’s wrist and held it high. “You know what I think? I think this is all an act.”
Behind them, the Avarian’s ward and watcher, Deneus, cleared his throat loudly.
Mort turned to face him. “Yes?”
The Malforian gave him a withering look of disapproval. “If you could kindly unhand my client, I would deeply appreciate it.”
Mort licked his lips. Trapped in his grasp, the tiny creature with gorgeous green eyes yanked his arm to pull himself free. His attempts were marked distinctly by an Avarian’s full strength, flying powers firing at their best. But it was no use. The youth could have lifted and spun them around the room half a dozen times. All he’d accomplish was breaking his own wrist and maybe some furniture. Mort still wouldn’t let go.
The Avarian paused to glare up at him with more fire and fury than Mort had ever seen. “Knock it off.”
Mort stepped in closer. He could smell the sweat coming off the Avarian, though whether it was from fear, effort, or both, he couldn’t say. He broke into a mild grin. “What are you going to do about it?”
A sound like rolling thunder issued across the room. The Senator glimpsed back. Behind him, the Wuljerian made a growling noise with no attempt to conceal her hatred. Mort sized her up. She was an enormous being. Even among her species, she probably stood half a head taller than most. Her body was covered in an almost impenetrable layer of shaggy hair. A Malforian’s razor-sharp teeth would have difficulty finding a way through. And attached to her massive paws and jaws were her own set of cutting utensils. Though far blunter and less sophisticated than a Malforian’s, the damage they could inflict was nonetheless worth noting.
All around them, the other inhabitants of the private room seemed to be holding their breath. He couldn’t help surveying each stunned expression in turn. He could almost taste the tension. Beneath his skin, his muscles trembled and begged for an excuse to attack. It had been ages since he’d felt anything like this. Here was a real, tangible scramble for power. Something he could sink his teeth into…maybe even literally.
It was almost too good to be true.
He turned to peer down at the Avarian. “Ask me nicely like a good Avarian, and I’ll let you go.”
The Avarian’s eyes flashed. “Yula, if he doesn’t let go in three seconds, rip his throat out.”
Yula’s growl kicked into a lower octave. Mort, still staring down, smiled. The Wuljerian took a step toward them. Then another one…
“Yula,” hissed the reptile behind them.
Yula stopped and tore her gaze away from the Senator. She stared at Glongkyle, intensely pale eyes wide with confusion. “Yula protect Izo?”
Glongkyle advanced. “Izo can protect himself,” he said with unhurried concern. As he passed the struggling couple, he flashed the Avarian a mean look. “Can’t you?”
“Yeah,” the Earthling replied quickly. At first, Mort was confused by the driver’s nonchalant attitude. But when Izo glanced up at the Senator, his brow knit with concern, Mort decided he didn’t care. There was a mystery far more pressing flashing behind those gorgeous green eyes. Everyone else in the group slowly followed the driver, first the bodyguard, and then best friend. Only the Avarian and the two Malforians remained.
“Are we going to stand here all night?” asked Deneus.
Mort held Izo’s wrist a few more seconds. He was waiting for something, though he didn’t know what. But as the moment stretched out, it suddenly happened—Izo’s expression broke. Like a mirror losing anything to reflect, his face dropped, his volition fell away, and he blossomed into a perfect picture of resignation and stillness. It was a vision of abject beauty unlike anything the Senator had ever witnessed. He suddenly looked more like a piece of art than a person.
Mort let go.
Izo yanked his hand back. “Do that again and I’ll break your nose.”
The Senator nodded, understanding the reaction completely. “Of course.”
Izo narrowed his eyes. He was still hanging onto his hurt wrist, but his gaze blazed with renewed fire. He jabbed a finger at the larger male. “Just watch yourself, cabrón.”
Mort tilted his head. Was he serious? If so, Mort had never seen anything half so headstrong or endearing. The need to save face was strong with this one, a fact that Mort respected and, if he was honest, only made the youth that much more likable. He examined the Avarian through a cloud of fresh adoration. Finally, he waved an apology, and even bowed his head to show sincerity. “You’re right. Forgive me.”
Izo huffed and went to the other end of the table to take his seat. Deneus seemed to be holding in the urge to say something more. Instead, he resigned himself to silently following his client to the other end of the table, eyes never leaving the Senator.
Mort whipped out a chair and sat back, satisfied to simply watch the spirited Avarian gather his guardian and short best friend in a lopsided attempt at protection. He could see the three of them talking quietly. He could have analyzed their mouths to see what they were saying, but didn’t. It was more fun to let them try to strategize.
He instead peered with disapproval at the Avarian’s other two companions—the bodyguards. Ever-vigilant professionals, they were competing over who could lean further out over the private room’s balcony. The Wuljerian, easily the longer and likely winner of the two, seemed strangely timid around the height. Mort smiled. They’d be easy enough to get rid of, if it came to that.
Mort shifted his gaze back to Izo to partake in his favorite new pastime—running a digital scan on the Avarian’s mysterious features.
There was a gentle, automated rush as his augmented brain circuits broke the youth’s lovely face down into triangles. This information he translated to an easy algorithm, adding genetic variations and natural anomalies, before passing it all to the major databases. In a moment, the search would return its results and he’d have his answer as easily as spelling out a word in his head.
A real-life mystery. Was there anything more intriguing? For a man like Senator Malogue Di’Mortaco, all untried things were delightfully rare. He’d been everywhere worth being, seen everything worth seeing, owned everything worth owning. His was a life of perpetual blessings and boredom. Nothing excited him; he hadn’t felt his pulse quicken in years.
His internal device notified him it had his search results. He opened them.
Searching Error: Match Unknown.
Senator Malogue Di’Mortaco sighed with longing. Was there ever a more beautiful combination of words? And in an instant, he was caught up in a surge of love. Not for the Avarian—for the universe. After all, it was the cosmos themselves that continued dropping new discoveries at his feet like shiny, far-flung diamonds.
Mort rose and stretched his back. He wanted to play more with the new mystery in his life. He wanted to poke it until it gave him another perfect green-eyed glare. The Senator liked the way Izo glared.
He stood and strolled around the table. “Mind if I join?”
“Please,” answered Deneus, gesturing at the empty seat on the other side of himself. “We were just discussing Izo’s new career plans for the city. Maybe you could give him some ideas?”
Mort wanted to cover his mouth. It was so adorable. Watching them plot and scheme was just about the cutest thing he’d ever seen, most especially because they were terrible at it. Mort held in his reaction and gestured at the Ginarsian’s seat. “Sure, let me sit down first.”
“Tearn’s already there,” the youth answered stiffly.
“Tearn can move.” And grabbing Tearn’s chair, he jerked it back a few inches. To help.
The change in the trio’s expressions was priceless, and none more so than the hot-headed beauty’s. The offense, apparently, was beyond all words. Mort couldn’t help letting out a cheeky grin. The whole scenario had him feeling like a colossus. Pushing little people around—better than therapy.
But then it occurred to him that the Ginarsian wasn’t moving. Bald, big-headed, and small enough to toss overhand, Tearn was holding his ground like a fiercely loyal pet.
Mort frowned. He waved Tearn up. “Move.”
“Tearn’s fine where he is,” said Izo.
“How can he be fine? He’s in my seat.” Looking down at Tearn, he let his smile drop. “And my city.”
“You could play him for it,” suggested Deneus out of nowhere.
Mort shot him an offended look. “Excuse me?”
But Deneus didn’t seem worried. Leaning back and crossing his arms, he gave Mort an easy Malforian shrug. “It’s a friendly disagreement. Settle it with a friendly competition.”
Mort, now making his own disgusted noise, started to say how far below him and ridiculous the mere idea was—an Imperial Senator, one of the main levers of power within what was arguably the single most influential planet in the universe, reducing himself to compete with some no-name Ginarsian too stupid to know when he was in clear danger.
But before he could, the Avarian let out a slicing trickle of laughter. “I don’t know, Deneus. The Senator seems a little scared to me.”
Mort chuckled lightly. Internally, he was thundering.
“All right, does everyone have their slips in the bowl?” asked Deneus.
“Yes!” cheered Yula.
“Good. Now let me explain the rules one more time…Glongkyle!” snapped Deneus. “Pay attention.”
“Sorry.” Glongkyle sat back. Mort suspected the Strungian had been trying to figure out what metals the dessert trays were made of.
Deneus rolled his eyes and held the bowl higher. “Glongkyle, Yula, and I have written eight different words from eight different languages onto these pieces of paper. Now the two of you”—He pointed at Tearn and the Senator.—“will take turns choosing them at random to identify the language. Every language correctly identified earns one point. There are no passes or steals. The person with the most points at the end—”
“Gets to take Izo home and defile him,” Mort crowed.
“Sí, but only after surviving a very long fall,” added Izo with a pinched smile. Arms crossed, he was sulking low in his chair. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself.
The Senator grinned and shot the Avarian a slow and purposeful kiss. The youth exhaled hotly and looked elsewhere. It was adorable. “Enough stalling.” Mort grabbed the bowl and shoved it toward Tearn. “Let’s play.”
Tearn awkwardly caught the bowl. Then, grabbing a slip of paper, the Ginarsian opened it. “Cristavolos,” he said, holding it up for everyone to see.
“That is correct,” confirmed Deneus.
Snatching his own piece of paper, Mort shook it open. Though the auditory translators everyone wore didn’t translate print, his embedded device made the game a cake walk. Not that he needed his device for this particular language. He’d seen enough nasty messages from Ari carved into his shuttles and outside his office door to have it memorized forever. “Aurelian.”
“Correct,” said Deneus.
Tearn grabbed the next one. “Wuljerian,” he said.
“This is also,” Yula cried happily.
Mort rolled his eyes and snatched up the next one. The group was kind of cheating, taking advantage of the fact they were clearly familiar with each other’s languages. But Mort could kind of cheat too. Running a quick search in his head, he pulled up the answer immediately. “Strungian.”
“Correct,” confirmed Deneus.
Tearn unfolded and held up the next one. “Anolitun.”
“Also correct,” said Deneus.
Damn, Mort thought to himself as he grabbed another. The little shit actually knew his languages. But then, looking down, he grinned. “Strungian. Again.”
“What?” Tearn looked around in confusion. “That’s not allowed.”
“Not my fault,” Mortaco said nodding at Deneus. “We told them to pay attention.”
Deneus frowned and seemed to think it over. “We’ll count it as half a point. Agreed?”
Mort shrugged. “Fine.”
Tearn gulped. Reaching into the bowl, the Ginarsian vacillated between the last two slips of paper before ultimately grabbing the one on the right. But as he opened to read it, all the blood drained out of his face. “Um…” Tearn started weakly. “The handwriting is a little tough to read…”
“Tick-tock,” said Mort.
Sighing, Tearn tossed the paper down. “I don’t know.”
Mortaco glanced over at it to run a quick search. “It’s Utslectian.”
“He’s correct,” Deneus said with a deeply disappointed look at Tearn.
“You’d think he’d remember the language of the Southern Chancellor’s people,” said Mort to Deneus.
Tearn grabbed his face and hunched over in his seat.
Mort opened the last slip of paper and rolled his eyes. “Ginarsian.” Then, balling it up, he dropped it into Tearn’s drink. Mort stood to make a show of stretching, pausing to flex his arms and shoulders a few times. “And now, I take my prize.”
“You didn’t win,” said Izo.
Mort gave the youth a sympathetic frown. “Yes, I did. Your boyfriend lost fair and square, so now it’s time to hush.” He held a finger to his lips. “Trophies don’t talk, beautiful.”
“Deneus said the person with the most points wins. Not the most half points. You had three and a half. Tearn had three. You tied.”
Mort squinted. “You round up.”
“Deneus never said to round up,” said Izo. “You can’t make up rules whenever it suits you.”
“Sweetheart, I’m a Senator.” He held his hands out. “That’s literally my job.”
“It’s not your job here,” Deneus said. Rising, he turned to Tearn and the Senator. “We’ll settle this with sudden death. One final round; one final language. We’ll choose one word—something obscure—and the first one to identify it wins. Agreed?”
“Okay, but who picks the last language?” Tearn said. His voice was strained and nervous.
Mort shrugged. His embedded device could find anything. “Doesn’t matter to me.”
Deneus nodded. “Izo, would you like to choose?”
“Me? I don’t—” But something seemed to occur to the youth. He uncrossed his arms and sat up. “Sure. What do I do?”
“Write down one word from any language on this piece of paper,” Deneus said holding up a sheet. “Then, once they’re ready, you’ll show it to them at the same time. The first one to name it wins.” Deneus turned to Mort and Tearn. “Make sense?”
Mort beetled his brow. Something weird was happening, though he wasn’t sure what. Then it hit him. Of course! The Avarian was from an uncharted planet and Tearn was his personal linguist. They’d share some secret language that would be impossible to search. Mort chuckled, impressed. He surveyed the Avarian youth. He was proving to be quite the wily target.
Mort sat back in his seat mildly. He needed to think about how to play his next move. “All right,” he finally agreed, with a nod. “But if I’m going to agree with this, I want something in return.” He turned at Izo. “Win or lose, you have to get drinks with me.”
“Sure,” Izo said, holding up his cup. “We can order them right now.”
“Not here. Somewhere else. And with no one else around.” He jerked his head toward Yula. “In other words, you leave the entourage at home.”
Izo’s expression stiffened. “I don’t think…”
“Deal,” said Glongkyle. “But if we win, you have to use your connections to get Izo a professional contract with the Imperial racing team.”
Mort blinked. He turned to the reptile. “I have to do what?” He spun back to the Avarian. “You want to join the Imperial racing team?”
Izo shrugged. “Sure.”
Mort grabbed his chin. He was now positive there was something fishy going on. Even so, he had to admit it was an interesting wager. “And you’d swear to hold up your end?” he asked Izo. “Win or lose, you’ll have drinks with me alone?”
The Avarian rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Tearn cut in. “It’s just a game!” Laughing, his bulbous face was a mask of confusion and fear.
Mort narrowed his eyes. Whatever was going on, the Ginarsian wasn’t in on it. That sealed it for him. Mort stood to face Deneus directly. “I get to choose the venue and meeting time for drinks,” said Mort.
“And we get final approval of the racing contract,” said Deneus.
Mort nodded and reached for a tooth. “Deal?”
Deneus nodded and reached for his own. “Deal.” And then, following Malforian tradition, they each twisted out a tooth and handed it to the other.
The Avarian yelled and jumped out of his seat.
“What?” Mort searched the room in confusion. His device hadn’t alerted him to any sudden movements or noises. In fact, there was nothing out of the ordinary anywhere around. He gazed back to the ashen-stricken Avarian. “What happened?”
But Izo was too busy staring at the razor-sharp barb in Mort’s hand. “What the psycho-crap was that?”
“It’s how they make verbal agreements,” Tearn explained to Izo. “It’s like making a pinky promise on Earth.”
“By ripping out their teeth!?”
“What’s wrong?” Mort flashed his bleeding gum at the Avarian. “You don’t find that attractive?”
The youth covered his mouth. For a moment, it looked like he might actually vomit in front of everyone. But he eventually managed to swallow it back down. “Ugh. Holy shit, we better win this thing.”
“Izo, calm down. It’s fine,” Deneus said, shoving Mort’s tooth into his pocket. “We’re almost done. Come over here and write your word.”
Groaning loudly, the exotic beauty floated up. He seemed suddenly exhausted, his features taking on a quiet, noble quality. Mort’s heart almost broke. He seemed like the type of Avarian that would probably look brave no matter what he went through or saw. “Can I have the pen?”
“Sure.” Deneus handed it to Izo. “Do you want a piece of paper?”
“No, I got it.” The Avarian instead took the pen and wrote directly into his palm. Then padding over, he stood in front of the Senator and Ginarsian. “Ready?”
“On the count of three,” said Deneus. “One… Two… Three.”
The Avarian showed them his palm.
Mort looked at the scrawled string of symbols and started a search.
Searching Error: Match Unknown.
He started an advanced search. But a few seconds later the result came back the same. He frowned at how long this was taking. Grabbing Izo’s hand, he compiled and loaded each symbol separately. Still the search came back empty. He grunted and shook his head. “You got anything?”
Tearn didn’t answer. Glancing over, Mort chanced a second to see what was holding him up. But Tearn didn’t look stuck. In fact, he didn’t seem like he was in any rush at all.
Staring at Izo, lower lip trembling, Tearn’s face was radiating awe. Then, with a slow but purposeful motion, the Ginarsian reached out to gently pry Izo’s hand out of the Senator’s.
“I know the answer,” said Tearn. “That’s English for ‘blue.’”
Izo smiled. “Correct.”