ROMULUS (The Innerworld Affairs Series, Book 1) Page 3

  Rom appeared from the left, nodding slightly when the crowd applauded enthusiastically. Tarla smirked when she glanced around at the number of people filling the stands.

  Even covered from head to toe, Romulus presented a formidable figure. His paper-thin silver armor, helm, boots and gauntlets fit his tall, muscular frame like a second skin. A navy-blue tunic hung from his broad shoulders to just below the protective codpiece. He was the Blue Knight.

  Rom swung his body onto a white Arabian as large and anxious as the black. Modern technology had created the men's armor but the lances were replicas from ancient times.

  When the first game began, the men ran their horses at full gallop toward the center of the field where they lanced a ring balanced on a post.

  In the second contest the knights hurled their lances at a small target while flying by on their well-trained steeds. The scoreboard confirmed that neither game had offered the men much of a challenge. Black and Blue each had twelve, the maximum points possible.

  Tarla's excited cheers blended in with the noise of the crowd, as the time for real battle arrived. The warriors exchanged their pointed lances for blunt-ended ones and shields while the referees lined up the railings for tilting. The contestants had to attempt to unseat their opponent as they raced past each other in separate lists. If both men were still mounted after three passes, the fight would continue on foot with swords and shields.

  The trumpet sounded and the mighty four-legged creatures performed as they had been trained. The breakneck speed alone would have upset an amateur rider, but neither of these men fell into that category. With their bodies pressing forward, they managed their horses with straining legs as they bore their weapons in front of them.

  With a thunder of hooves, the figures came together. Metal clashed as shield struck against shield then parted again.

  On the second try as the noble steeds charged ahead, both men brandished their lances threateningly. Romulus directed his toward his enemy's helm, above the shield. The Black Knight aimed straight for the center of his opponent's shield.

  The Black Knight managed to swerve just in time to avoid the attack on him but still achieved his own goal of hitting Rom's shield. Upon impact, the wooden post of The Black Knight's lance splintered into pieces. The force of the blow was so powerful that Rom's horse reared dangerously backward and it took all his strength to right the animal again.

  When both men managed to remain seated through a third pass, they dismounted and the fight continued. The game would end only when one man contacted the other's heart area.

  The combatants circled each other with swords and shields raised. Somewhat shorter and leaner than the Blue Knight, Black had the advantage of greater agility. The two knights put on a show that Tarla was convinced the fans would be talking about for months.

  Unexpectedly, Blue used his shield as a discus and flung it at Black's knees. Black succeeded in leaping high enough to avoid the twirling metal but lost his footing and fell backward into the dirt.

  Seizing the opportunity, Blue whirled his sword toward Black's heart. The final trumpet blared, signaling that the sensor device in the armor had detected a direct hit. The score had been twenty to eighteen, in favor of the Black Knight. But the win went to the Blue Knight.

  Wild cheering filled the Arena as the Black Knight knelt before the victor. Without revealing his identity, the defeated knight remounted his waiting black stallion and rode off the field.

  The Blue Knight trotted his white mount around the playing area, waving to the crowd then headed for the locker room.

  Tarla waited patiently in the lobby for her champion. She supposed more than a hot shower occupied him. Undoubtedly, there was a throng of backslappers hanging around and, being all male, and a political creature at that, Rom could not resist their attentions. A night like this could add a little more sparkle to his campaign, not that his image needed it, Tarla thought.

  Rom exited the locker room between two laughing men and Tarla greeted him across the room with an understanding smile.

  She couldn't help thinking how very handsome he was. His hair, damp from the shower, looked jet-black and she knew his changeable eyes would be dark green in his happiness. When she had first met him, his potently masculine appearance had knocked her off balance. After that, however, the attraction had fizzled. Though she liked him as a special friend and admired him as her boss, she had accepted that there simply was no spark to their relationship.

  She admitted to herself that she had done everything she could to create some heat between them. The times she had maneuvered him into coupling with her lacked something she thought should be there. Not that there was anything really wrong with him. His sexual skills were perfect and he had easily brought her to a satisfying release, but she could do that much without him. She had realized his emotions were not involved in the physical activity and that had left her feeling very unsettled. He had even seemed surprised when she had encouraged their becoming physically intimate.

  Tarla had quickly discovered her competition and knew there was no contesting it. His work was his mistress and his political aspirations the only future to which he gave any lingering thought. Rom was never rude or inconsiderate but at times she thought she was working for an android. Only on rare occasions, like tonight, did he relax enough to have any fun.

  "Sorry it took me so long," he said when he finally extricated himself from the two men.

  "That's okay. I figured you were fighting off your fans in the locker room."

  "Actually those guys were only part of it. I also took a few minutes in the whirlpool. My body already feels like I was run over by a marsh bull."

  "And you loved every minute of it. Listen, why not come back to my place? We could have dinner and if you're real nice, you might get a massage."

  Romulus laughed and put an arm around her shoulders. "You don't have to ask me twice. I don't think I could keep up this charade much longer."

  Being pulled to his side as they walked made Tarla aware of the other thing that nagged at her when she was with Rom. She knew she was slender but she was hardly a stick, and at five foot three she had never thought of herself as a dwarf. Rom towered over her by a full twelve inches, making her feel like a miniature person. Some women liked feeling that way but, it only made her feel invisible.

  By the time they entered her apartment, he had already recounted each detail of the game at least twice. "I cannot believe how great that guy was. He played the part of the Black Knight better than anyone I've ever seen, dirty tricks and all. I asked around but no one admitted to knowing which trainer he was. I guess it adds to the mystique of the game. One of these days I'll figure it out, though, and I'll take him on again. I think I should be ready in about two years." They both laughed heartily as he collapsed on the couch with an enormous groan.

  Tarla gave her facilities manager their dinner instructions and, a few minutes later, set a platter of appetizers in front of her guest. "I heard from my father, the bigot, today."

  "Shame on you, Tarla, talking about your esteemed parent that way!" Rom was teasing her. He knew well the extent of the man's prejudice.

  "Oh, you know I love him, but he won't listen to reason where Terrans are concerned."

  Rom winced automatically. Although the term literally referred to humans born on Earth's surface, it was too often used in a derogatory manner.

  Tarla shrugged. "It seems a family of them moved in next door to him and he's absolutely beside himself. It might turn out to be the best thing that could have happened. If he would only take the time to get to know them, he might have to admit the fact that our colony is quite safe in spite of those creatures running around loose.

  "I remember how shocked I was the first time one was pointed out to me. I had expected them to walk on all fours and have fangs that could tear my throat out if I crossed their path. I certainly never thought they would look the same as us. When I realized what nonsense he had spouted all thos
e years, I was so angry I was ready to go out and join with one just to shake him up. I didn't care that it was against the law."

  Shaking his head, Rom recalled how furious her father had been when Tarla went to work for him. That man still blamed him personally for the Terrans in Innerworld being integrated into society over twenty years ago.

  Through the years Rom had worked closely with Governor Elissa in her efforts to grant equal rights to Terrans and they had been highly successful. Only a few restrictions now remained on the books. The prohibition against joining with a Terran had originally been passed to maintain the purity of Innerworld's superior race, but it was also a safeguard for the Earthlings. No one was certain a Terran could survive the joining ceremony.

  "Sometimes I really feel sorry for them," Tarla continued. "No matter how hard they work to blend in, there are still a few people like my father who won't let them forget they're an inferior breed. Hey, how'd we manage to get so serious? You must be ready for that massage, my brave knight! I have a unit in my bed or you can have the good old manual method." She wiggled her fingers at him.

  "You know I prefer the human touch. You don't really have to do this, you know. However, I'll probably be eternally grateful if you do."

  "As my lord wishes," Tarla said, curtsying.

  Rom quickly shed his clothing before she could rescind her offer. Letting out a long moan, he lay stomach down on the soft carpeting. He stretched his muscles to their full length and relaxed.

  Tarla admired his well-proportioned physique. His leisure activities of horseback riding and wielding broadswords definitely countered his penchant for vegetating behind a desk.

  "L-four," she instructed the facilities manager and the lighting in the walls dimmed to a soft rosy glow. After warming a container of kolmander oil, she knelt beside her willing victim. Her straight, black, waist-length hair lightly brushed his bottom as she situated herself.

  "Hey! That tickles," Rom jokingly complained. "Did you say this was mercy or mayhem?"

  Tarla poured some of the soothing oil into her hands and began to work her magic, kneading his aching muscles.

  "By drek, that's good. You could be a masseuse at the Indulgence Center."

  She continued, working up one arm then moving around to concentrate on the other, purposely letting her hair tease him as she leaned over his vulnerable form.

  "Seriously, Tarla, have you given any thought to what you want to do if I do get the governorship? I mean, you could come with me or stay and work for the new chief of this province. If you're interested in trying something different, though, I'd certainly be glad to help you in any way I can. You've been a good assistant, but you've never given me the impression that administrative work was your heart's desire!"

  Tarla giggled. "You're right about that, of course. The problem is, I don't know what my 'heart's desire' really is. I keep thinking one day it will come up and hit me between the eyes and I'll run around screaming, This is it! I finally figured out what I've been waiting for! Until then I'll just stick by you, I guess."

  "Hmmm, honest but a mite unflattering." Rom groaned again as her thumb found a particularly tender spot in his shoulder.

  "Why don't you just be quiet and try to relax?" Tarla vigorously rubbed the oil into his back and pushed and pulled his muscles with greater strength than she appeared to have. She circled his buttocks with the palms of her hands and found his muscles no less developed there.

  She kneaded his legs from his ankles up and back down, each time coming tantalizingly closer to the soft flesh slightly exposed between his thighs. With one long fingernail, she accidentally scraped that tender skin and smiled when he flinched. The power he had placed in her hands was too heady to resist teasing him. She knew he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable lying on his stomach.

  "Turn over," she commanded softly.

  His obedience revealed the full evidence of his discomfort. Although most of his body had relaxed under her skilled ministrations, he sported a glorious erection. Tenderly rolling his swollen sacs in one hand, she firmly grasped the shaft with the other, her fingers barely meeting around his width.

  When she lowered her mouth to him and flicked her tongue over the tip, he gasped his acceptance of her offering. "Yes, please." And Tarla granted him an efficient, quick release.

  Afterward, he stroked her hair and whispered, "Thank you."

  Tarla sat still for a moment, feeling suddenly drained. It didn't take much thought to realize it wasn't due to the physical energy her efforts had required. It was his response. Please. Thank you. Those were appropriate words relating to a full-body massage. She knew what she had done was merely a physical service performed for a friend but he might have offered to return the favor. Since all she had to do was ask, his unintended neglect should not have annoyed her... but it did.

  "Rom," she said as she got up and gathered his clothing for him. "I need you to go home now."

  He was clearly confused.

  She put her fingers to his lips. "I'm just tired. I'll see you in the morning." Tarla said no more while he dressed and walked to her door. Placing a light kiss on her forehead, he bade her good night.

  She had told him she didn't know her heart's desire. That was not entirely true. She knew she wanted to be loved by a man whose hatred of another race did not blind him to her love, a man who would put her before everything else, including his work, a man who needed her touch as desperately as she needed his.

  Once upon a time, that was not such an odd goal for a Noronian female.

  Once upon a time, Noronians were as uncivilized as Terrans. But going back to that less complicated, more interesting era was not an option.

  * * *

  On his way home, Romulus analyzed the evening's events. The game had been his best ever, as well as the most strenuous. And without requesting a favor, Tarla had treated him very well and that took care of the other item on his agenda for getting rid of his frustration. So why didn't he feel better?

  He could tell something was bothering Tarla also, but he had no idea what it might be and she didn't seem anxious to reveal it.

  He should have been ready to drop into an exhausted sleep. Instead, he felt as though his nerve endings were on the outside of his skin. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was truly in the running for the governorship, that it was no longer wishful thinking. After all, he had devoted his entire life toward that goal and now it was within his grasp. He had every reason to be excited. After a moment, however, he rejected that explanation. He knew intimately the feeling of having achieved hard-sought goals and this was not quite it.

  He suddenly recalled that he had felt like this once before.

  When he was ten years old, for a week or more, he had roamed around aimlessly, scratching his oversensitive skin, agitated by every little thing. An old woman with white hair hanging to her ankles had arrived at his parents' farm. Her name was Mem, eldest of the Ruling Tribunal of Norona. She had stayed for two days, talking, questioning and debating with him. By the time she had left, he knew a future of leadership awaited him and his path had been neatly planned. His case of nerves had departed with her.

  Though he was not precognizant, the answer hit him like a thunderclap. He had never put much effort into developing any of his extrasensory powers to their fullest potential but this message came through in spite of his limited abilities.

  Something important was about to happen again.

  The second he acknowledged that probability, a dream from the night before came back to him. He had been tangled in a silvery spider web and the more he struggled to get away, the more he was entrapped. He was aware that the web held danger, maybe even death, and yet it also had a seductive quality that made him want to burrow deeper into the snare. When he finally pushed the silver strands away, he was gazing into a clear midnight blue sky.

  Rom tried to analyze the symbols of the dream but if they held a clue about what was coming, he had no idea what it was.


  As he entered his residence, his facilities manager announced that a confidential transmission awaited his attention. Romulus sat down at his desk and opened the vidcom. A coded message appeared on the monitor for a brief moment before it unscrambled.

  TO: Chief Administrator Romulus

  FROM: Outerworld Monitor Control

  RE: Operation Palomar Update

  Neither Emissary K66 nor his mate have reported in for forty-eight hours. A tracker has been dispatched to locate them.

  He ran his hand through his hair. Drek! As OMC was responsible for keeping tabs on everyone and everything on Earth's surface, they had been instructed to notify Romulus immediately of any development concerning Operation Palomar. He had hoped their next communique would contain good news. Instead, the tracker assigned to the case would be the only one to welcome this advisory. As special enforcers with highly developed extrasensory powers, trackers rarely had the opportunity to use their abilities for anything more interesting than finding lost items.

  Rom feared he now had the reason for his restless condition. Determined to get some sleep, he ordered himself to go to bed and put everything out of his mind until the morning. It seemed he had barely nodded off when he was jolted awake by the signal from his vidcom.

  "Romulus here."

  "This is Berrix at OMC. I'm afraid there was another accident in the Sargasso Sea this morning, sir."

  "How many this time?"

  "Five males, four females."

  "I'll be there in an hour."

  "Uh, sir, there's one other thing. There is clear evidence of violent personalities in two of the Terran males."

  "Drek!" Romulus muttered, now certain that whatever surprise was coming his way, it wasn't going to make his life easier.

  Chapter 3

  What a nightmare, Aster thought, half-awake. She had never had one quite so vivid or so violent. As she moved her head, she felt as though cymbals were clashing inside her skull, but the heat of the sun on her body soothed her aching muscles. She really felt awful. Maybe she was coming down with something.