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Quiet Invasion(19)

By:Sarah Zettel


“I respect your caution, Ambassador T’sha, but I cannot let it endanger us any further.” Righteousness swelled D’seun to his fullest extent. “I will proceed with the poll of your families.”

“I know that,” replied T’sha calmly. “I’m already arranging time with the speakers and the pollers. You will have your vote.”

D’seun cocked his head. His eyes examined her from crest to fingertip, trying to guess what made her so complacent. If he succeeded, he gave no sign. “Thank you for your cooperation then, Ambassador. I will wish you good luck and go prepare for the vote.”

“Good luck, Ambassador D’seun.” T’sha lifted her hands. D’seun lifted his briefly in return and flew away.

T’sha watched him go. There are advantages to dealing with someone whose attention has narrowed to a hairs-breadth, she thought. He has not yet thought to make a try for Gaith’s body.

“Ambassador?” came Ca’aed’s voice suddenly.

“Yes, Ca’aed?”

“I want you to know, I’m going to vote in favor of using D’seun’s candidate for New Home.”

“What?” T’sha stiffened. “Ca’aed, why?”

“Because I’m afraid, T’sha. I’m afraid that what happened to Gaith will happen to me and to you.”

T’sha shriveled in on herself as the city’s words washed through her. Ca’aed was afraid. She had never heard the city voice such a thought before. What could she do against that?

“We will protect you, Ca’aed,” she murmured. “But who will protect the New People?”

“You will find a way.”

T’sha dipped her muzzle. “I will have to.”





Chapter Three


“THIS IS YOUR 7 A.M. wake-up,” said the room’s too sweet voice. “This is your 7 A.M. wake-up.”

Around Veronica, the hotel suite woke up. The lights lifted to full morning brightness. In the sitting room, the coffeemaker began to gurgle and hiss, while a fresh lemon scent wafted out of the air ducts.

Vee, who had been awake for an hour already, looked up, sniffed the combination of coffee and lemon, and wrinkled her nose.

“Should’ve shut off one of those,” she muttered.

She looked back down at the desk screen in front of her with its list of names, degrees, and recent publications. She frowned for a moment and then moved Martha Pruess to the top of the list. She was a research fellow in photonic engineering from the Massachusetts Federated Institute of Technology, and her list of publications took up half the screen.

“Checking out the competition?”

Vee jumped, twisting in her seat. Rosa Cristobal, her friend and business manager, stood right behind her chair. “Jesus, Rosa. Don’t sneak up on me. It’s too early.”

“Sorry.” Rosa tucked her hands into the pockets of her thick, terry-cloth robe. “But that is what you’re doing?”

“Yeah.” Vee sighed and tugged on a lock of her hair. “Rosa, I am not going to get this.”

“They invited you,” Rosa pointed out, as patiently and as firmly as if this were the first time she’d said it.

“Why?” Vee spread her hands. “They need scientists, engineers. I’m an artist, for God’s sake. It’s been years since I’ve set foot in a real lab.”

“You’ve got a Ph.D. in planetary atmospherics and your name is sitting pretty on five different patents.”

“Which you will remind them of.” Vee dropped her gaze back down to the list. Actually, maybe Avram Elchohen should be at the top. He’s got a few more papers on optoelectric engineering—

“Which I will remind them of.” Rosa reached over Vee’s shoulder and touched the Off key. The desk screen blanked. “Get dressed, Vee. The interview’s at nine and you do not want to be late.”

“Yes, Rosa,” said Vee in the tones of a child saying “Yes, Mommy.” She got up meekly and headed for her bathroom. “And shut off the lemons, will you?”

“Yes, Vee.”

After her shower, Vee dressed in an outfit she’d bought especially for the interview—wide navy-blue slacks and a matching vest with matte buttons over a sky-blue silk blouse. She stepped into the makeup station and selected a minimalist setting. The mirror glowed gently as it scanned her face and sent color instructions to the waldos, which responded by laying on just a hint of bronze to highlight her cheekbones and jawline, and a touch of deep wine to her lips.

“Close your eyes please,” said the same too sweet voice that had given the wake-up call. Vee did and felt a quick puff of powder. She opened her eyes. Now her lids had a hint of burgundy coloring and a discreet sheen of gold dust glimmered on her cheeks, the very latest in conservo-chic.