Page 49 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
I stretch up to kiss him once more, quick and light, then head for the door. “I’ll see you tonight, First Blade. And maybe then we can continue that security clearance evaluation.”
“I await your return with great anticipation,” he says, and the heat in his voice makes me stumble slightly.
“Keep that up, and I might skip the diplomatic tour entirely,” I warn him.
“The thought has merit,” he rumbles, making me laugh.
“Behave yourself,” I tell him over my shoulder as I reach the door. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I will endeavor to contain my impatience,” he replies, but I can hear the amusement in his voice.
As the doors close behind me, I can’t help but smile. Three days ago, I was a reluctant courier with a broken ship and mounting debts. Now I’m a diplomatic attaché with a weaponized tea-serving droid and an alien warlord who looks at me like I’m something precious.
Life has a funny way of delivering exactly what you need, even when you don’t know you need it.
13
Diplomatic Immunity
Suki
Theagriculturaldomeisa marvel of Zaterran engineering—a massive crystalline structure that curves gracefully from the asteroid’s surface, its transparent walls offering a breathtaking view of the star field beyond. Inside, terraced gardens cascade down multiple levels, each one carefully climate-controlled and maintained by a network of automated systems that put my old ship’s life support to shame.
“Impressive,” I murmur to Vex’ra as we wait near the entrance for the Morcrestian delegation. “I expected more... military infrastructure.”
“The fortress was not always a military installation,” she replies, her tone carefully neutral. “Before the wars, Zater Reach was known for its agricultural exports. The D’Vorr family built their reputation on feeding the outer colonies.”
I file that information away, another glimpse into Henrok’s past that explains the man beneath the warlord facade. “What changed?”
“The Stellar Togetherness Initiative decided our independence was... inconvenient,” Vex’ra says with barely contained contempt. “They branded us as pirates and separatists. The family had to choose between surrender and survival.”
“They chose to fight.”
“They chose to protect their people,” she corrects. “There is a difference.”
Before I can respond, Rusty glides up beside us, his newly enhanced personality subroutines already adapting to the diplomatic setting. “Greetings, Coordinator Vex’ra. This unit has prepared seventeen varieties of refreshments suitable for Morcrestian physiology, including three that are guaranteed not to cause digestive distress.”
“Only three?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“This unit believes in offering choices,” Rusty replies primly. “Though this unit strongly recommends avoiding the fermentedkava pods. The last Morcrestian ambassador who sampled them required three days of recovery.”
Vex’ra’s expression doesn’t change, but I catch the subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth that might pass for amusement. “Your... modifications to the serving droid have been noted, Suki. The domestic staff is both impressed and slightly terrified.”
“He’s an improvement,” I defend, patting Rusty’s metallic chassis. “At least now he has opinions about the refreshments he’s serving.”
“This unit has always had opinions,” Rusty informs me with dignified reproach. “This unit simply lacked the appropriate subroutines to express them diplomatically.”
“And now?” I prompt, curious about what other surprises my tinkering might have unleashed.
“Now this unit can express them in seventeen languages, including three forms of interpretive dance,” Rusty states proudly. “Though this unit reserves the dance protocols for special occasions.”
I’m still trying to process the mental image of Rusty performing interpretive dance when the main entrance signals an incoming transport. Through the dome’s transparent walls, I can see a sleek Morcrestian vessel approaching—all elegant curves and burnished metal, a stark contrast to the brutal efficiency of Zaterran ships.
“Showtime,” I mutter, straightening my shoulders and trying to channel some version of diplomatic poise.
Vex’ra gives me a look that’s almost sympathetic. “Remember, they are here as much to assess our political stability as to discuss agricultural trade. Your presence sends a message—that Zater Reach is not the isolated, xenophobic territory they expect.”
“No pressure,” I say dryly, watching the Morcrestian transport dock with practiced precision. “Just smile, nod, and try not to mention that half your defensive grid is held together with creative engineering and sheer bloody-mindedness.”
