Page 46 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“As you wish,” the droid acknowledges, then adds, “Though it is a particularly clever rhyme scheme.”
Henrok watches this exchange with an expression I’m beginning to recognize as his version of fascination—a slight softening around his eyes, an almost imperceptible tilt to his head.
“You have given it... personality,” he observes.
“Enhanced what was already there,” I correct him. “He was probably quite the conversationalist back in his day, before centuries of neglect corrupted his social protocols.”
Rusty swivels toward Henrok. “This unit served the D’Vorr household for seventy-three years before the War of Shattered Moons necessitated reassignment to storage. This unit remembers a young Henrok who once requested seventeen consecutive servings of crystallized fruit and subsequently became ill.”
I turn to Henrok with delight. “You had a sweet tooth?”
A darker gray flush creeps up his neck—a Zaterran blush. “I was very young,” he says stiffly. “And the droid’s memory banks are clearly compromised.”
“This unit’s memory functions at ninety-seven percent capacity following repairs,” Rusty counters. “This unit also recalls young Henrok hiding from combat training in the crystal gardens.”
“Okay, now I know you’re making stuff up,” I laugh. “Mr. First Blade here, avoiding combat practice? That’s like saying a Venturian slug-beast avoids slime.”
But Henrok’s expression has shifted, something almost like nostalgia softening his features. “The crystal gardens were... peaceful,” he says quietly. “A rare commodity during wartime.”
The admission catches me off guard. It’s easy to forget sometimes that Henrok wasn’t always the imposing warlord, the First Blade. That once he was just a boy who liked sweets and quiet gardens.
Before I can pursue this fascinating glimpse into his past, the chamber doors slide open again. This time it’s Vex’ra who enters, her crystalline markings pulsing with what I’ve learned to recognize as mild agitation.
“First Blade,” she greets Henrok formally, then turns to me with a slight inclination of her head. “Courier Vega.”
“It’s just Suki now,” I remind her. “Unless you prefer ‘Supreme Logistics Overlord.’ I’m considering having badges made.”
Vex’ra’s expression doesn’t change—it rarely does—but something in her posture eases slightly. “I have reviewed your proposed changes to our supply chain management,” she says, ignoring my joke. “They are... not without merit.”
Coming from Vex’ra, this is practically effusive praise. I resist the urge to gloat and instead nod professionally. “Thank you. I’m sure there are elements of your system worth preserving too. We can integrate the best of both approaches.”
Henrok watches this exchange with what might be approval. “You had other matters to discuss, Vex’ra?”
“Yes, First Blade.” She straightens, back to business. “The diplomatic contingent from Morcrest has requested a tour of our agricultural facilities. Given the... sensitivity of their visit, I thought perhaps Suki might accompany me.”
I blink in surprise. “Me? Why would you want me along?”
“Your perspective as an outsider could be valuable,” Vex’ra says carefully. “And your experience with various planetary systems provides context our visitors might appreciate. I’ve heard the new Morcrest High Chieftain has taken a human wife—perhaps that would assist with... relations.”
What she’s not saying is equally clear: having a human present might make the Morcrestians more comfortable, less suspicious. I’m being used as a buffer, a sign that Zater Reach isn’t as isolated or xenophobic as its reputation suggests.
“Wait—the High Chieftain married a human?” I can’t help the little spark of validation that flares in my chest. “So I’m not the only one with questionable taste in intimidating alien partners.” I grin, catching Henrok’s eye across the room.
“Seems like we’re starting a trend.”
His expression remains neutral, but there’s a subtle tension in his jaw that suggests he’s not entirely comfortable with the idea. “It’s your call,” I tell him, surprising myself with how much I mean it. A week ago, I would have bristled at the idea of needing anyone’s permission. Now... well, we’re figuring out what “we” means, and that includes considering each other’s positions.
“The decision is yours,” Henrok replies, equally surprising me. “Though I would prefer to accompany you.”
“The Morcrestians specifically requested a... less intimidating escort,” Vex’ra explains delicately.
I snort. “So basically, they’re scared of you.”
“As they should be,” Henrok says without a hint of boasting. It’s simply fact.
“I’ll go,” I decide. “But only if I can bring Rusty. The Morcrestians might appreciate his... unique conversational skills.”
Vex’ra looks like she might object, but Henrok inclines his head in agreement. “An excellent suggestion. The serving droid’s presence will appear non-threatening while providing additional security.”
