The Pharoah Contract

When he turned, Auliss Moncipor had returned. He felt again that odd heat, and a mild sense of embarrassment. She apparently received a portion of the involuntary message he was sending, and she seemed at least somewhat receptive, with a glisten to her eyes and a slight smile on her pretty mouth. The factor directed a keen glance at Ruiz, then another at Auliss.

“Go with Citizen Aw, Auliss. See to it he has all he needs,” Prinfilic said. It smiled, too, though its smile wasn’t as attractive as the one Auliss wore. “And please, Ruiz, reconsider. Surely you can spare a day or two. Or at least, a night? Eh?”

* * *

Auliss led Ruiz through the passageways of the platform, but now she moved at his side, occasionally touching him with a soft hip, and directing him with a hand at his elbow.

“You’ll want to see to your boat first, I’m sure,” she said. “We’ll go to Maintenance Sector. You have your vouchers?”

He patted his pocket.

“Good. I should have known you’d be prepared.” She cast an artlessly flirtatious look at him.

“Yes. Always prepared.”

“And after your boat is ready? What then?”

“I’d planned to leave. Can you suggest a better plan?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

* * *

Ruiz instructed a phlegmatic technician in his requirements. He patted the armored flank of the Vigia, a gesture of foolish sentimentality.

Finally he authorized access to the noncritical areas of the boat.

Auliss led him quickly back to her quarters, which were in a small module at the far end of a lengthy spar.

When they entered, he recognized the decor as appropriate to the home of a Pharaohan noble of modest pedigree. In the center of the green-tiled entrance court, a small fountain splashed lazily in the light artificial gravity. Incense drifted in the moist air, a scent of sweet-flowered desert shrubs.

“Come in,” Auliss said, tugging him inside. “What do you think?”

“Pleasant,” he said, glancing about.

“Well, we’re probably unduly influenced by the dirtsiders. After all, it’s our main entertainment, watching them at their odd little lives.” She seemed faintly apologetic, as though Ruiz had caught her in an admission of provinciality.

“No, no, it’s a fascinating culture,” Ruiz said. “And a lucky coincidence that you’ve arranged your rooms so authentically. I can begin my acclimation before I leave the platform.” But he thought, as he said this, that he was unlikely to visit any noble homes.

But Auliss seemed pleased by his diplomacy. “Good! I like to be helpful.” She stroked his arm and pressed lightly against him.

She seemed to transmit a carnal current to his body, another intense shiver of lust. He grew alarmed. He couldn’t understand the source of these abrupt passions. It was as though his mind had become a stranger’s, for the moment. He wondered if this disturbing condition was related to Nacker’s handiwork.

“But first,” she said, “a meal and some Pharaohan wine. Have you had any yet?” She seemed innocently enthusiastic, as though her question had no other meaning than the obvious one.

“No,” he answered. “Though I’d like to try a little.”

She colored, and he saw that she understood him well enough.

A curtain at the far end of the entryway lifted aside, and a very young Pharaohan woman stepped through, to stand with downcast eyes and folded hands.

Auliss glanced toward her. “Oh, this is Meraclain, my bondservant. She’s an excellent cook. While we eat, if you like, she can entertain us with some traditional songs of the desert. Her voice is quite passable.”

Ruiz’s throat was suddenly dry. Auliss was attractive, but Meraclain was beautiful — the difference between a gaudy artificial gem, and a cabochon of black opal. Meraclain had long, thick, black hair, brushed back from an oval high-cheekboned face. Her skin had the look of ivory velvet, her eyelashes were long, and her dark mouth curved to perfection. She wore a gauzy robe that concealed nothing of her body, which was elegantly spare, as handsome as her face.

“Mistress? You’ll be wanting dinner for two?” When she spoke, the illusion of grace suffered somewhat. Her voice seemed rather nasal and whiny, and Ruiz made a note not to encourage her to sing. Perhaps she dances, he thought, and recovered some of his equilibrium. This evidence that he worked for slavers had cooled a bit of his ardor, but not enough to make him leave. Perhaps, he thought, Auliss is no worse than I, though this rationale did not comfort him entirely.

Auliss conveyed him into an inner atrium, where they dined under an armorglass bubble that revealed a disc of starry space.

The meal was tasty. Though Auliss told him that the seasonings were adjusted for pangalac tastes, Ruiz was still pleased by this evidence that his sojourn on Pharaoh might not be a culinary trial.