Excerpt: The Bellerophon (A Novel of Hyperion)

The Bellerophon--Prologue

Love, that in gentle heart is quickly learnt, Entangled him by that fair form, from me. Ta'en in such cruel sort—Dante, Descent, Canto V, 99-101

He sat in his favorite chair, in his communications hub, and brooded. His finely arched brows were twisted and furrowed in his anguish, and his fingers carded absently through his long obsidian locks.

//All of them, they all leave me// he thought, balefully to himself, then aloud, sotto voce, “Why? You all say you love me, but none of you really does. All of you, all of you. You lie, you all lie.” Standing, he paced, now and again leaning on the tapestried walls, with their huge depictions of his life, not embellished, here in his retreat, where few but he were ever allowed.

He cast his thoughts backward. His womb-sister, Faiminhad, the only woman he had ever loved, one who would have been his co-consort, even she had left him. His father, his mother, his vast family. They were all supposed to be as long-lived as he, born to rule, born to mold worlds to peace and prosperity, then rule them. All, all, had left, had died, one by one, as he had been forced to watch. Even Faimi.

He had come here, to this place, from his own dimension, and out of chaos and poison, out of dissent and calamity, had created this peaceful, prosperous and beautiful place.

Hyperion, he had named it. No, that was the Other, the one friend he had accepted almost as an equal, he remembered, now, back through the centuries. Terrence Kariuki, the man from Earth, in his day, he'd been a slave, he said, but he had come from a far-off planet, been brought, really, and had fought his captors, destroyed them, and joined him here, to help rebuild the world almost destroyed by its people. Terrence. Such a beautiful man, but he did not wish to be a consort of men. Terrence had taken pledges, when his new sovereign had outlawed the taking of husbands and wives. Had made beautiful babies, so many of them. Their descendants served today in the vast estate that was Abervand, and lived all over Hyperion. Terrence had left him, too. A brief spark, a flame, a sharing of friendship, and Terrence had died.

His first Companion. Stalligatanes. Such a beautiful man. He had declared his undying love, even when set aside for the one female consort he had been forced to Pledge with, to unite the last warring faction of Hyperion. Stalli. How he had loved Stalli, had given him everything. He had raised him up from his former status as street comfort worker. He had given him everything. Stalli had given him love and devotion.

Ah, how he regretted setting him aside for that female. The woman he himself had taken to wife, trying to make a family. What was her name? Obli, Obli-something. She was of no consequence. She couldn't assuage his appetites, he who needed sexual congress the way other beings needed food and drink. Horrified, she had pulled away from him, but she had a child. Kestriminhad. A son. A beautiful, dark-eyed son, so much like the little winged beings he had accidentally made when he came here, the little cherubic immortals with their skin wings that flapped around the estate, causing havoc. Those little nuisances he rarely thought of, except to chase away or occasionally indulge by feeding. They did not love him. Obligans. She didn't love him. Oh, no, she despised him, though she never showed it except by drawing away as much as she could. But he could hear it in her thoughts. She hated everything about him, including his child. His child. His only issue. Defective.

Kestri had fallen ill. Had cried, and cried. He'd taken Kestri to the machinery left from the vessel that had brought him to this world, had used his vast resources to peer into the very molecules of Kestri's DNA, only to find out that his own seed was defective. It had been so damaged by his entrance into this plane, he would never have viable issue. Kestri had lived for a short time, so short, three short annums, long enough to walk, to talk, but not long enough to live. He had died in his arms. Enraged, he had built a huge pyre outside, had shorn his beautiful long hair and burned it with his son. He had already sent Obligans away, but she had come to the funeral, and berated him. Berated him, who had loved his son so much, had wanted so much to raise him in love and joy to rule all the people alongside his father.

Nearly, he had thrown Kestri's mother onto the pyre in his rage, but he had managed to hold himself back. He couldn't bear her anguish. He sent her away again, to live as she would choose, and made certain she had everything she would ever need, once he had come out of that black rage, but all, all who lived in his estate had shorn themselves in mourning. They had tiptoed around him, he remembered, even Stalli, in whose arms he had found some succor, but he could not take him away from his new Pledge. He could not bear to cause that one pain. Nangi. He remembered Nangi, now. First master of Abervand. Yes, such a beautiful man Nangi had been. And so loyal. But Nangi and Stalli, they too aged. Aged, while he stayed the same. Always the same.

In the end, they left him, too, gone on their own journey to the Universal Garden. Died, and left him.

He'd taken mostly male companions in his life, after Obligans. Women were mercurial, more unpredictable. Well-suited to public life, as they were, practical and with intelligence and a power he could not define, they frightened him in a way he could not explain nor admit to. They were softer. Yes, softer in so many way. They could not hold up to his innate strength in his sexual frenzies, but somehow, they were stronger, too, inside, where he could not touch. He

Males, like himself, were more easily led, more prone to be impressed by his own power and strength. But one by one, consorts, companions, and comforters though they were, each one left him. Names and faces marched in his memories. His last consort had died in the wintertide, nearly twenty-seven annums before. A freak accident in an ice storm. How he hated icestorms. They turned the crystal forest into a place of deceptive beauty, overlying an undercurrent of danger and sudden death.

The man's face darkened again as he remembered his consort. Such a golden beauty, strong and masculine, well-muscled, with the invigorating scent that drove him to intoxicating joy, thyesty, his favorite even today. It mimicked pheromones exuded during times of extreme pleasure. The man's sense of smell was most acute, and he could determine small changes in his surroundings. He had smelled the storm before it came. He maintained sensitive weather predicting equipment, of course, but this odor, wet, and ice, and crackling snow, an almost electrical sensation in the air, it was different, yet familiar, as he had lived in the city he'd recreated, Clymele, for nearly five hundred annums. He'd warned his consort not to go riding. His consort had waited until after the storm. The day had warmed, but the ice on the river had been deceptive. His corymil had ventured onto the crusty bank, and had crunched right through it. His consort had suffered a brain injury, and got lung-suck, and died, leaving him alone, again. Alone to face the storms, and the seasons. And the storms.

He didn't mind the normal wintertides, cold and icy as they were, but the big storms, the thunderstorms in summertide and the icestorms in wintertide reminded him of the wars he had stopped on Hyperion as he came through, the deaths, the destruction of innocent life. He dreamed in the night, sometimes, and woke, thrashing and crying, burying himself in the love of the one who slept near him or with him. He did not like sleeping alone or being alone, except here. Here was different. He could look at the tapestries and remember how it had been, so long ago.

He wasn't ready to journey in that direction yet.

Turning, he paced in the other direction, looking at the tapestry which detailed Abervand as it had looked so long ago, just the beginning of the estate beyond the Crystal Forest, away from the heart of the new city he designed and had built where the old slums had once been, before the Jimat, before he had changed everything. The foundations of the five wings had just been laid in those early days. The middle, the apartments that were to be the heart of his estate were still being designed. Those were heady years, he remembered, the days full of purpose, rebuilding after the wars and the reconstruction which had cost so many innocent lives. Terrence had helped him rebuild after his lone fight against the Resistance Wars from Mathravaka, the last holdout after the Change.

He'd loved the challenges. He reconstructed the whole social structure of Hyperion. Families were no longer to be haphazard, ruled only by heart and tradition. It was Stalli's idea originally, or had it been Nangi's? He couldn't remember. One of them. Maybe both of them. But he, himself, became the final authority in everything. Children would be raised in professionally staffed crèches. The mothers would nurse all the children in the crèche, not just their own. When nursing was through, the mothers would go back to their former lives, their pledged families, and they would lead happy lives, knowing their children were cared for and loved and would be raised in a loving environment.

Bit by bit he'd put this world through Formation, a process perfected by his species, of which he was the last. Formation was a way to polish and refine a work of clay, to make its beauty and its utility perfect. It was a harsh process, and the world felt its pain and terror, but then it came to know the love he felt for it and its people. The all-encompassing love which gave and gave, and asked only to be loved in return. And the people did love him, in their way, or at least they said they did. In song, and dance, and art, they celebrated the one they called their Syoshant, their Savior. They read the sacred book he wrote them, the Chronicles of the Bellerophon, or ChronBel as it came to be known. Twenty-one books. A guideline, a history, a path for each of his people to find ultimate happiness in finding his or her place in the newly re-built society, a culture of peace and prosperity, available to all.

To all, with him at the center, to guide them. His people. His children, for, as near immortal as a being could be, he found he could never produce his own. They were his children, he mused. Even his companions—hadn't he raised them just the way a father would, before he took them into his heart and his bed? Hadn't he given his companions the gift of Formation, as well, such a great and powerful gift that he gave only his best beloveds? His world, then his companions. Only they knew the process of Formation. His world had forgotten that process. It was alluded to in the Book of Chaos, in the ChronBel, but in terms that only those who knew the process intimately would understand, and know it for the gift it was.

Sighing, the man settled in his command chair again, and called up his computer holoscreen. He'd taken to scanning newsholos from many different worlds. He wanted his people to stay here, on Hyperion, to keep them all safe from outworlders and outworldish influences, but it would not do for he himself to remain as ignorant as his people. He'd repelled those who would invade the world with a sophisticated set of sensors and defenses of which only he knew. He'd rejected overtures with more peaceful cultures, as well. Hyperion had all it needed. But he, himself, felt it was good to keep his finger on the pulse of the galaxy outside his world.

Idly, he scanned the latest newsholos. Then he saw one which caught his interest. From the world of his long-lost old friend Terrence, he saw that those who called themselves "human" had spread out, had constructed a system of portals to send shuttles at near-light speeds, hurtling through space, seeding colonies throughout the galaxy. He had watched what those people were up to. Some of them had tried to practice their own Jimat on themselves, creating a group of enhanced humans. The scientists who made them had dubbed them "chimeras," but the humans feared them, it seemed. But they used them, used them in space, and in hazardous ventures.

He saw one of their near-light shuttles had made newscasts all over this sector. A young commander was being decorated, and beside him a sombre and tall individual with his hair worn nearly chin length, held with a colored band of cloth around his head. It was the young man who caught his eye. He was being interviewed by someone or something of some alien race, not very human looking, shiny and shimmering. The man engaged his translating devices, and looked closely at the young commander.

Neremgaz! It could not be. He turned the sound up, and captured the image, and on another screen, enlarged it. The newscaster was speaking, and he engaged his translating device.

“CUPS welcomes its newest member planets, known in English as Cestus Prime and Cestus V, and to their own people,” (and here the translator stuttered, saying “the People” and “the People,” as she mouthed what looked like “Velos and Comos”). “Credited with the diplomacy which brought these two great beings to our commonwealth was the star service's own, the youngest, to date, commander of the post-Gatesways' shuttles, Commander Johannes Lucius Winters. We now take you to Fedath McEnery, now covering the press conference.”

The holocam here panned to a young man with a green-tinged complexion, otherwise quite humanoid in appearance, who spoke next. “Hello, Themora. Commander Winters and some members of his crew have just been persuaded to come to the podium to say a few words...here he is now.”

The camera swung to a podium set up with an emblem of some sort, stars on a field of deepest cobalt. The man at the podium was garbed in a silver-grey tunic and black trousers, and metallic gold braid flashed on his sleeve as he gripped the podium. “Greetings, gentlebeings. As you've been told, I am Commander Johannes Winters, and this is my First Mate Mr. Wykvaya.” He indicated a tall man behind him who could almost have been a Hyperian, save for the elegant pointed ears. From the man's scanning of newsholos, he knew this was a mark humans had put on the chimeras, to show they were not like the rest of the humans. Mr. Wykvaya nodded, but did not smile, and Winters went on to what seemed to be a carefully prepared short speech about the fraternity of all beings. He seemed uncomfortable in the camera's lights, and when the speech was done, seemed to melt back into the crowd, and was gone.

The man was now so intrigued he forgot his earlier black mood. An air of excitement now pursued him as he manipulated buttons and called up information, some of it encrypted. With ease, he broke into sealed documents and soon had an array of data before him. On closer inspection, he resembled Neremgaz only superficially. His hair was reddish-blond, not the dark color of Neremgaz' and he was thinner, but there was a definite resemblance, especially around the eyes and lashes. Like Neremgaz, this Winters was charismatic, but unlike Neremgaz, he seemed used to commanding other beings.

Hyperion, the man mused, was his home now, his people, but they were not so much a challenge now, and he needed challenge. He stroked his chin. His current companion was ill, very ill, and had indicated he, too, would be leaving his lord. There had to be a replacement. The man could not be alone, never alone. Alone brought memories, terrible memories, and without the constant succor of love and sexual release the man would go mad and be unable to care for Hyperion. And then what would the people do? They could no more exist without their lord than he without them.

This commander who looked so much like Neremgaz caught his eye again. That one. He would make a suitable replacement for Beniam. Hyperion was a beautiful world, but the people had no one in it who was both bright and capable of taking initiative. He seemed to have bred initiative right out of the people though it had been a necessary step in retraining them.

Furiously, he keyed in commands, then found the files he was looking for. General Anatole Ilich Vasiliyov had ambitions, it would seem, and perhaps some bait could be extended to him. Hyperion had no need of external alliances, but Vasiliyov would not need to know this. He would invite envoys, distribute some luxury gifts, and then insist on the commander who had done so much to further interplanetary relations. He rubbed his hands together. A challenge, that's what this beauty would be. He so needed a challenge.

He would bring him to Hyperion, he would tame him, and together, they would rule this world in peace and splendor.

That the commander may have other ideas was not important. That the commander had a relationship already was of no consequence. Once this beauty was tamed, he would be forever his own, and Hyperion's.

Life, once so predictable, was beginning to look interesting again.

The Bellerophon--Chapter One

I seemed to see the universe alight with a single smile...
Dante The Paradiso Canto XXVII v.4-5

Commander Johannes Lucien Winters stirred in his sleep, curled beside the dormant form of his husband, First Mate Wykvaya. It was the second half of their third year as a married couple, and they were as content as they could be, given the politics of space work in general and the uneasiness of allowing a normal human and a chimera to serve together. It was only their brilliance as a team which made it possible.

Jon Winters may have been "normal" in the political parlance, but his genius in commanding shuttle missions and gaining access to alien systems to set up the Gatesways, the transporter devices which made interstellar travel and colonization possible, had positioned him in a unique way to gain favors from within the Starshuttle Service, having opened diplomatic ties with no less than four alien civilizations within the first three years of gaining command of the shuttle, its near-light speed making it ideal for short hops between Gatesways.

And now the Service, commanded by the Commonwealth of United Planetary Systems, or "CUPS" in the vernacular, wanted a Gatesway on the dead planet which orbited Hyperion. Gatesways were so called because the original research funding which had made the principles by which they operated possible had come from one Phoebe Gates in the mid twenty-first century. Her family had an aptitude for making money, and they shared a vision of a future in which humans would walk the stars. Without superluminal travel humanity had been corralled in their own solar system. Then some scientific visionary discovered the principles of making artificial wormholes, and the first Gatesways were born.

There were alien races with superluminal, or FTL travel. But they would not align with CUPS. Most of them seemed friendly or at least neutral, but occasionally one or another would engage human or other aligned shuttles in skirmishes, so shuttles were armed with laser weaponry and a kind of pulsing phased energy beam which took up too much power to hand carry. Thanks to the Reticulan translators, gifted to humanity by that unaligned group of races, humans could speak to anyone. If galactic civilization was still a dream, due to conflicts or indifference, at least where congress was desired, there was a way for them to speak to one another.

Wykvaya, as a chimera, had his implanted in his brain as a chip, alongside his other enhancements. He also had a kind of low-level telepathy where his husband was concerned. He knew how he was feeling at any given time or place. CUPS did not know of this improvement to the chimera genetic structure. It was felt that to let most humans know of this might precipitate sanctions against them, even violent ones. Humans could still be genocidal.

Jon Winters knew. How could he not? But he kept his knowledge to himself. It made the two of them even more impressive as a team, and CUPS mostly cared about results. They got results. In spades. They never questioned why these two worked so well together.

Wykvaya stirred a little and pulled his husband's arm close around his body. His sleep was only a little uneasy. It was his duty to make certain all the data needed by CUPS was collected in a timely manner and uploaded to the Network's secure datastream portal. He performed his duty efficiently and quickly as a general rule, but even his enhanced abilities could not foresee every possible outcome of any given mission.

And their last mission had been rough. They'd been sent to survey an almost Earth-style planet unclaimed by any other species, as far as could be determined, and with no native sentient life, only to discover that there was a near-sentient race inhabiting the southern continent, which was an island continent. The decision had finally been made by CUPS central to allow colonization in the north but keep hands off the southern island-continent. Wykvaya had argued in vain for the planet to be allowed to proceed on its own. His arguments were passionate, persuasive, and well-thought out--and utterly discarded by CUPS central.

He wondered if it had been because he was a chimera that the normal humans had refused to listen. Prejudice against chimeras was alive and well, unfortunately, and he had received his share of outright shunning and veiled and not-so-veiled distrust.

For his first years in the Star Service, he had kept his pointed ears covered with a headband, worn in the 19th century style of the Hopi people, for his genome was largely Hopi, as they called themselves still, "The People." He still was not able to make friends. Normal humans did distrust the enhanced humans called "chimeras" by the scientists who made them, and who had decreed they all be decanted from their artificial wombs with pointed ears, so that all who saw them knew them for what they were.

Chimeras still did not have full civil rights. They could not vote. They were limited in their ownership of property and of businesses. They were all born sterile, as well. Few normals would have much to do with them, but by some miracle, Jon Winters, the strawberry blond from Mennonite Country in Ohio, had blown into Wykvaya's lonely existence and become his succor, his lover, his best friend. Then Commander Winters had performed another miracle, a dependency posting which allowed them to serve together.

He had been less sombre ever since the tiny civil wedding, presided over by an old justice of the peace who was also Dine, and who knew the blessing words, though he only reluctantly said them, for he was a normal, and also distrusted chimeras.

Wykvaya had found that whether or not his ears were covered made no difference, so he had long since left off trying to fit in. Now, with his husband at his side, he did not need to. It hadn't been long before most of the shuttle crew accepted him as if he were one of them, even though he had few social graces due in part to his dormitory upbringing.

Here, he felt he was home, here in his husband's arms, and on the bridge of the shuttle, where the crew worked as a team, all parts functioning as a whole. He liked that feeling.

The crew of the shuttle Z'darr was a happy crew in the main, but they had been pushed to the edge and were more than ready for a little r & r, after the skirmishes with the aliens and back to back milk runs of supplies to some of the colonies, as well as general star mapping.

The beauty of this new assignment was that the planet, Hyperion, was said to be serene, lush and, in this hemisphere, and this time of its season. The populace friendly and easy-going, and the goods and gastronomics enticing, as well as very safe. It would make an excellent site for the much –needed r & r, and its potential for admission into CUPS appeared to be fairly certain.

Winters had been curiously exhausted as they prepared for bed, and Wykvaya, always with heightened sensitivity to his husband's moods and physical condition, held back on suggesting they make love. They hadn’t lately, at least not in the fullest sense of the word, their time comprehensively truncated by an excess of seemingly endless administrative tasks for the commander, although certainly that fell within the normal parameters of his role, and similar rounds of meticulous research for Wykvaya in the lab.

Intimacy was regulated to an occasional brief and frenetic frottage, usually resolved with an orgasm for the commander and none of any such kind for Wykvaya, who preferred to control his response until they could have more time.

More time seemed less and less likely as the ship bore on through mission after mission.

Love, however, and their stubborn commitment to one another, sealed their bond, and their resolute dependence upon each other carried them through.

The projected mission to Hyperion appeared to be just what the doctor ordered. She had, indeed, insisting that the time away from the ship and spent in the bucolic splendor of a peaceful, welcoming Earth-style planet would be just the prescription they required for a rejuvenation of both body and mind.

“And spirit, too,” the physician had chortled, merrily. Vyvyanne Ethyra Madison was a vivacious redhead, and her specialty was chimeras and their attendant health problems. Due to the enhancement of their musculature, they were often prey to a variety of joint problems, and due to the nature of their computer implants, often suffered from depression and other ailments. Dr. Madison was on board precisely to nip any such problems in the bud where Wykvaya was concerned. Her interest was more than academic, however; she had been friends with Winters for many years and was becoming rather fond of his husband, though Wykvaya was somewhat distrustful of women, likely a side effect of being raised in an all-male dormitory.

“Just what’s that supposed to mean, Doc Vyvy?” Winters had frowned, sliding two fingers across his forehead, agitated and fatigued. They were walking back from Messhall, and Winters was both irritable and distracted.

“Didn’t you look over your printout of the mission junket?” smiled Madison, smoothing back her unruly crimson curls “Not only is that planet a virtual paradise, the folks down there apparently have a highly evolved spiritual side, completely wrapped up in devotion to their demi-god, what’s his name…odd one…” The doctor ran a hand across her chin, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully.

“Yeah, well the way General Vasiliyov described it, this entire mission shouldn’t be much more than a cakewalk---and one that I’m definitely looking forward to,” murmured the commander as they approached the turbolift. Madison nodded thoughtfully in agreement.

“Everything okay at home, Jon?” she asked, gently, using the familiar euphemism regarding the commander’s relationship with his husband. Winters smiled as the lift doors opened and they stepped inside.

“Deck Four,” he ordered, taking hold of the guide handle. “Yes. Actually it is, we just have the usual problems of a professional couple…command team by day, totally wiped out by night. You know the story, Vyvy, I’m sure…”

Now, however, they were asleep, Winters curled against the comforting heat exuding from Wykvaya’s relaxed body, facing his naked chest, with Wykvaya’s right leg covering Winters' left hip, and their flaccid organs nudging one another. Winters’ hand curved beneath his chin, like that of an innocent little child, and Wykvaya’s right arm stretched on the pillow above his dark head.

The air rustled with a soft breeze, lifting his hair slightly and refreshing his face and neck. He peered around him, familiarizing himself with the surrounding countryside. Off in the distance he could hear the gentle babbling of a brook, and the high-piped tittering of tiny birds. He stood and walked for a short distance. He was wearing his command uniform green shirt over blue jeans, and tall working boots. Looking down at his casual attire, he felt little sense of surprise at being clad in that manner, after all, he was at home. In Ohio.

“But this is not Woah-high-woh,” came a deep, resonant voice. Winters looked up, and shaded his eyes with his hand. He saw a tall, dark figure, completely draped in red: even the head and most of the face were covered.

“Wykvaya?” he called out, hesitantly. The figure could have been Wykvaya, it was tall enough, perhaps even taller. It certainly should have been Wykvaya. Winters took one step closer, and then another, still narrowing his eyes in order to better behold the figure, which remained serene and motionless, the crimson folds of its outer wrap billowing in the slight breeze.

“Wykvaya?” he called out again.

“Not Wykvaya, my love. Your destiny. Come to me soon, I grow impatient for your scent…”

Winters’ green-gold eyes sprang open, and he stared into the hooded, velvet sepia orbs of husband. Wykvaya was awake, propped up on one elbow and staring peacefully into his spouse’s slightly perspiring face. His fathomless dark eyes smiled, an expression which only Winters would recognize for what it truly was.

“What happened?” murmured Winters, his voice thickly coated with grogginess. He opened his eyes more widely and gazed intently into Wykvaya’s.

“You were dreaming, my heart. Your dreams intertwined with mine, thus awakening me,” explained Wykvaya, his tenebrous voice reverberating deep within his chest. Winters snuggled up to him, sliding a naked arm beneath that of the chimera, and encircling him around the ribs.

“Gods, I’m so fucking tired,” Winters whispered, before slipping back into a deep, restful slumber. They would depart in the morning, at the beginning of alpha shift, with a five day ticket to remain on Hyperion and conclude the first phase of the inclusion of that mysterious and reportedly beautiful world into CUPS .

A real piece of cake, a “fun” mission, as it was. Just exactly what they needed.

They took their seats inside the shuttlepod Pegasus, the vacuum seals on the locks thumping softly, and clicking as their pneumatic tumblers activated. The commander and First Mate manned the navigational and command instrumentals, and responding to the vocal prompts of the computer, successfully opened the shuttle bay doors and fulfilled the launch modules.

Madison sat with her several pieces of luggage securely attached by her feet, waiting patiently for her stomach to catch up to the rest of her body, and observing her companion passenger, xenobiologist First Lieutenant Xuan Le Nguyen. Pert, petite, attractive and very professional, she pulled a notebook from her stack of luggage and immediately began to watch the small screen, rapidly making notations on the keypad as she did.

“I take it, Lieutenant, that this is hardly your first time aboard a shuttlepod?” she smiled toward the young officer, who and responded with her own shy upturning of lips

“No, Dr. Madison, not at all. In my field, it sometimes feels like we’re on board a shuttle pod far more than on board a starshuttle itself,” she replied. Her dark head bent down toward the notebook once again, and she immediately became absorbed in her execution of vital permutations.

“How long does it take to make planetfall this time, Commander?” the physician called out, nervously smoothing her hair again and retucking stray tendrils into their clasps. The atmosphere within the cabin of the shuttlepod was acceptable, neither temperate nor unduly chilled, but she always felt slightly claustrophobic and anxious every time she found himself on board one.

“What’s wrong, Doc Vyvy, restless already? We’ve barely cleared ship’s orbit,” the commander taunted, chuckling. He glanced over at his co-pilot/navigator/spouse and smiled. Wykvaya kept his sight glued to the instrumentation panel, flicking toggles quickly and efficiently and silently entering data into programming on the lengthy keyboard.

“We’ll be clearing ship’s orbit in less than ten minutes, and entering planetary orbit within seven, Doc,” stated Winters, informationally.

“Six point eight-eight minutes and nine point zero seconds, to be more accurate, Doctor,” intoned Wykvaya, reaching over head to flip additional toggles, and watching the readout panels to insure the accuracy of his actions. Winters glanced over his shoulder and once he noticed that Madison was immersed in observing a notebook of his own, lightly and surreptitiously brushed a fingertip down the side of Wykvaya’s sleeve. The chimera appeared not to notice, but Winters caught the flicker of recognition in his husband’s dark eye as he quickly darted toward and then as quickly away from the commander.

“I thought we were supposed to be accompanied by a couple of other crew members,” mentioned Madison, nonchalantly, as she completed her twenty-five point checklist. They all carried a small amount of luggage. The projected length of their stay demanded that they have a proper change of clothes and the usual personal necessities. A greeting party consisting of several members of the High Council of Hyperion was planning on greeting them formally, and with the prevailing culture of the planet being one consumed with ceremony and protocol, they be escorted to a waiting mag-lev aircar and taken into the city.

Hyperion had no official space ports, but various regions employed makeshift landing strips. There was an automated directional beacon which the computer on board the Pegasus could lock onto, once they’d achieved low orbit, and from there their small pod would be directed straight to the location of the strip.

“Yes, Lieutenants Dahlberg and Woodbine are scheduled to join us once the preliminaries are taken care of,” replied the commander, referring to the planetologist and climatologist who were assigned to the mission as well. Lt. Dahlberg was a planetary physicist whose role was to assess and analyze the planet’s surface and take as many readings as possible on the stability of the planet’s core. Lt. Woodbine was an interplanetary meteorologist who would be responsible for cataloging and analyzing Hyperion’s basic stratospherics and its typical weather patterns.

“Taking another pod, are they?” inquired the doctor, hefting her medical recorder and observing some basic readings. She noted the commander’s blood pressure was slightly elevated, a not unusual occurrence for Winters. Something about cabin-bound pressurization had always affected his metabolism, but not to the point of undue concern. Madison silently wished for best speed and a safe landing.

Winters chuckled beneath his breath. Madison’s distaste for space travel was legendary; she bore a strong dislike for shuttlepods and an even stronger one for molecular transportation, via the Gatesways, yet she’d been a Star Service officer for nearly fifteen years. No accounting for taste, Winters smiled to himself.

“Right, Doc Vyvy, another pod, by the way, with a full complement of experts in virtually everything and anything that exists down there on that planet. We’ve already informed them to expect no fewer than fifteen ship’s personnel in the beginning. Once the all the ayes are dotted and all the tees are crossed, and HQ gives the okay, r & r can begin full speed ahead.” Winters looked over his shoulder at the physician’s rather dour countenance.

“Provided, of course, Hyperion passes medical muster.” He waited until Madison nodded in agreement, and then turned back to the main viewscreen. Two enormous globes were coming into view, perigee to the planet.

“My god, will you get a look at that!” observed the doctor, green eyes widened in wonder.

The Pegasus shifted fractionally as she adjusted her course and accelerated, and slowly the two celestial objects seemed to decrease in size.

“Those were the planet’s only satellites, Dr. Madison,” explained Lt. Nguyen. She made some digital adjustments on her laptop, as her delicate fingers swiftly input data by way of her keypad. Colorful readouts appeared, disappeared, reappeared and rapidly changed color coding.

“Oh, those are the two moons,” mentioned Madison, leaning back against her seat and folding her arms over her chest, her medical recorder balancing on her lap. She tilted her head toward the lieutenant’s notebook, as if attempting to read her data over her shoulder. She lifted her head and smiled, warmly. "Isn't one of them where CUPS wants to put the Gatesway?"

“Actually, only one of the bodies is lunar in nature, Doctor,” she stated. Her voice had perfect pitch, and an extremely feminine timbre. "And yes, the dead planet," she pointed, "there, that's the one where if we can get the ruler to agree, that's where the Gatesway will be assembled. But it's not a moon."

“No?” said Madison, her arms still folded, smiling. “I had no idea…”

“Well, no, it's actually a dead planet, a twin of Hyperion. But the two of them together make a spectacular moonrise and moonset, I would imagine. Really romantic.”

The lieutenant blinked directly at the physician, who smiled more eagerly and brought her hands down, wrapping them firmly around her medical scanner and corder.

At the instrumentation console, Winters loudly cleared his throat, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his First Mate, the corner of whose lips curved almost imperceptibly. The chimera sighed softly. Dr. Madison flirted shamelessly with everyone, it seemed, almost unaware of doing so. Male, female, none were exempt.

A muted high-pitched sound made a clearly audible signal.

“Proximity alert. Navigation acknowledge.”
Wykvaya leaned forward slightly and pressed a lighted pad, which immediately changed from blue to green.

“Acknowledged.”

“Orbital insertion in five point zero-zero-zero point twenty-nine seconds.”

Wykvaya leaned back in his seat and deftly activated the seating restraint. He nodded curtly to the skipper who followed suit, and called out behind him.

“In position, people, we’re about to acquire atmosphere.” Lt. Nguyen and Madison briskly clicked their restraints in place, leaning down and securing their laptops, scanners and recorders in the restraining units provided against the floor.

“Once we’ve breached the atmosphere, Doctor, and have cleared the planetary stratosphere, you’ll be getting a show I don’t think you’ll ever quite forget,” said the lieutenant, leaning back against her seat’s headrest.

“I’ve flown more than my share of pod trips, Lieutenant,” replied Madison, avuncularly. Her large, green eyes were warm and sincere. Lt. Nguyen smiled.

“Oh, I’m sure of that, Doctor, but I think you just may be in for a really interesting tour,” she insisted, demurely.

The Pegasus' viewscreen filled with soft blue light, and then darkened suddenly, only to reveal a cluttered starfield, and a soft, yellow light off the starboard side.

“Planet stratosphere in full acquisition. Computer requesting vector.”

Wykvaya serenely flipped six toggles in a row, and canted his head toward Winters, who toggled only one.

“Commander?”

“Vector six, Mister Wykvaya.”

“Vector six, acknowledged. Computer, execute vector six.”

“Computer acknowledged. Requesting best speed to signal beacon.”

Winters straightened in his seat. He pressed the indicator pad and entered a series of numbers into the primary locater keyboard. He sighed and peered at the viewscreen. The view was lightening considerably, and it appeared they were rapidly descending. He could make out the blue of what was apparently a considerably large body of water.

“Computer, maintain current speed.”

Lt. Nguyen nudged Madison and lifted her laptop; its view screen provided the identical imagery as the main screen at the instrumentation console. Madison smiled slightly and widened her eyes once again.

“My god. Look at it, Jon,” she murmured appreciatively.

The ride along the horizon of the planet was more than merely picturesque, it was positively breathtaking. Highly reminiscent of Earth, and more than a dozen other Earth-type worlds they’d visited over the past several years, there was something mysteriously compelling about the sights below. The planet’s topography appeared lush, almost unnaturally so, with seemingly endless rolling fields of deep, velvet green, and greenish –blue tree tops. They flew over a fascinating mountain range, with several mist-crowned peaks. For the most part the skies were blue, until they flew over what was obviously a rain forest.

Brightly colored aqua feathered birds flew en masse in a delta squad below them, as if providing a welcoming escort, and bright light flashed from a series of dark clouds which appeared out of nowhere.

“Meteorological cell approaching, west-southwest-west, at one hundred and ninety point six point six point zero kilometers per planetary hour,” announced the computer dispassionately.

“Remain secure, people; got a bit of an electrical storm, looks like she’s right on top of us,” warned the commander, and turning to Wykvaya, commented sharply, “Take us up above this elevation, Wykvaya, on the double!”

The chimera silently re-adjusted the altitude of the pod, and they continued to make steadfast headway, flying along on top of the storm clouds, until they reached another region of the planet, which held blue skies once more. The pod began a slow, even descent, and now they could see more fields, including flora and a wide smattering of fauna.

“Computer, locate signal beacon,” ordered the commander. He looked over at his husband and winked. “Wykvaya, see if you can raise the head of that welcoming committee, what‘s his name again?”

Wykvaya slipped his hand beneath the instrumentation console and played his slender fingertips along a panel of keypads concealed there.

“That would be High Councilor Sethre, commander,” he responded, crisply. Winters began to make an entry into the shuttle’s log, and glanced forward once more.

“Look at it, Wykvaya. What a sight!” The shuttle had descended further, and small structures were coming into view. Houses, homes, farms, what looked like isolated shops and villages, a few mag-lev aircars, but not many.

“Remember, Doctor, the technology here is roughly equivalent to that of Earth in the early twenty-first century. They employ rudimentary bio-scans, but only at their medical centers. Much of the healing that is practiced is organic in nature, and healers are believed to have a special “touch” or inherent understanding of the workings of the body. You may, however, find that some of the surgical procedures they use here to be completely amazing in terms of septic control and tissue regeneration.” Lt. Nguyen smiled endearingly at Madison.

“You seem to know an awful lot about a world that I was informed is rather enigmatic, Lieutenant,” commented Madison as she stretched her arms and rolled his neck, rubbing at the nape and dislodging a hairpin. Automatically, she reinserted it into the mass of curls, then patted her hair again.

“I’m part of an investigatory consortium who’ve been studying Hyperion for almost ten months, Doctor Madison,” responded the xenobiologist.

“Ten months!” exclaimed Madison. “You mean CUPS has been working this deal for almost a year?”

“The global leader here, a man known as the Bellerophon, apparently contacted CUPS about four months ago,” explained the lieutenant, bending down and reattaching her laptop to its security holster along the floor by her feet. “However, according to the consortium’s findings, CUPS has been investigating the possibility of contact for longer than that.” She straightened and folded her hands primly in her lap. She wore the sigil of research personnel on her regulation blouse, and black unisex uniform trousers, not the thigh length skirt so often favored by the onboard servicewomen. .

She held a heightened sensitivity and extraordinarily clear awareness of the cultural norms of the planet, and understood that for a woman to appear publicly in less than demure apparel was, if not outrightly forbidden, at the very least, heavily frowned upon. Besides, for the areas she intended on investigating, such as farms and the few manufacturing sites the planet held, trousers were infinitely more efficient, and far more comfortable besides.

“The Bella-bella…” began Madison, not certain of what she had heard the young woman just say.

“The Bellerophon, that’s right, Doctor,” Nguyen repeated. Winters turned halfway around in her seat, peering at them over the headrest.

“Isn’t that some name from—oh, I don’t know, ancient Earth folktales or some such?” frowned the physician. Winters piped up.

“Actually, it’s from ancient Greek mythology, Doc Vyvy, don’t you remember?” he suggested. “Bellerophon, the beautiful young man favored by the Gods, and given a flying steed called Pegasus as a reward for being courageous and self-sacrificing during a crisis engineered by the gods themselves?” He smiled a lopsided grin at the lieutenant, who gazed at him in surprise at his instant recognition of the origin of the strange appellation. “I took my undergraduate degree in interplanetary history, Lieutenant,” he said, apologetically. Wykvaya flicked a few toggles and peered intently into the monitor situated on the instrumentation console.

“Oh,” replied the lieutenant, smiling in return. “I see.”

“Interesting how he would call himself ‘the’ Bellerophon, and even more interesting that he would use what is essentially an ancient Earth word all the way out here, and in this time,” mused the commander, thoughtfully.

“Proximity alert. Signal Beacon detected,” intoned the computer. Wykvaya responded by rapidly typing a several codes onto the main keyboard.

“commander, sensors have detected the signal beacon. I’m trying to raise High Councilor Sethre now,” said Wykvaya, his voice rising slightly with the subdued excitement that only he could generate. Winters whirled around in his seat, and activated his viewer, quickly placing an audio cone into his ear.

“This is…High…Council…Savcenes…please..identi-…self…”came a barely audible voice through the grid, crackling with static

Winters stared at Wykvaya momentarily as he touched the gain control on the outside of the stem of the audio cone.

“High Councilor, this is commander Johannes Winters, we’re on the shuttlepod Pegasus and have managed to acquire feed from the signal beacon…do you read me…This is Commander Winters..”

Sethre’s voice faded completely and Winters sighed and pulled the audio cone from his ear. "All right, Wykvaya, looks like we’re on IFR all the way in. Take her.” He sat back and gripped the arms of his command seat, taking a deep breath. He and his spouse both held advanced spacecraft pilot’s licenses, and Winters could fly anything with a ramjet and even the simplest propulsion system, but he loved to watch his chimera task helm and navigational control whenever he could. Wykvaya’s actions were like poetry in motion, and Winters could feel himself becoming slightly aroused by both handing over control to his elegant First Mate, and he allowed his thoughts to drift easily albeit inappropriately to the control he enjoyed conceding to his life mate in private. It had been more than a solar month since they’d been able to secure enough time and privacy for themselves in order to fully enjoy the wonder of one another, and Winters found himself having to cross his legs beneath the console in order to gain a more effective measure of control over himself at that moment.

The shuttle pod made a picture perfect landing on the dirt-filled, rock-strewn makeshift landing strip located at the distant edge of a farm, approximately seventy-seven kilometers outside of the city of Clymele, which, Winters learned, was the regional capital of the territory of Clymele. Lt. Nguyen explained that although Hyperion was roughly the same size as Earth and most other Earth style planets, its population was significantly smaller, the result of a cataclysmic war half a millennium ago during which the entire planet was nearly destroyed and fully two-thirds of its population decimated. Through careful birth planning, re-population had been achieved, but the general practice over the past two hundred and fifty years had been one of low and tightly controlled reproductive growth.

“Just think of the entire planet as one huge collective, Commander,” she’d whispered as the party of High Councilors, four in all, stepped forward, smiling warmly and extending all of their hands in welcome.

“commander Winters?” asked a tall, slender, very elegantly dressed man, with pale blond hair and bright blue eyes placed his hands gently on Winters' shoulders and bussed him chastely on his cheek. Winters forced himself to smile, not being especially pleased with the rather intimate introduction, and opened his mouth to belay the man from doing the same thing to Wykvaya, when he noticed the High Councilor bow fractionally to Wykvaya, maintaining the required distance for chimeric human civility.

“Mr. Wykvaya, pleased to meet you, gentle sir, I am Sethre Savcenes, of the House of Vacil Savcenes. Welcome, all of you, to Hyperion, and to our own beautiful Clymele.”

Wykvaya politely returned the bow, and held his hand up in a greeting gesture, then made a motion to Commander Winters. "May I present my commanding officer, and my husband, Johannes Lucius Winters,” continued Wykvaya, coolly. Sethre bowed once more to both men.

“This is Lieutenant Xuan Le Nguyen, of the USS Enterprise,” stated Winters. “She is a scientist, here to appraise your world’s preliminary readiness for admission to the Confederacy of United Planetary Systems, or CUPS, and this is our Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Vyvyanne Madison. She’s the personal physician---or, healer, if you will---to the entire complement of my vessel, my friend. She is here, of course, to represent the medical benefits of inclusion for Hyperion.”

Sethre bowed again and smiled, deeply. He was an extremely handsome man, with thick, well-arched pale blond eyebrows and even blond eyelashes, lightly tanned skin and a fine set of wide, even white teeth, which he showed off to advantage every time he grinned, which, to Winters' growing annoyance was often.

“Gentle lady, welcome,” he said, lifting the lieutenant’s small, delicate hand to his lips and chastely kissing its back.

“Dokk-torr Viv-ee-enn,” he gracefully mispronounced, bowing slightly toward Madison, who smiled and returned the bow.

“Please, allow me to introduce our second in command at the High Council, Lady Jamaspa.” He turned and extended a hand to a dark brownskinned woman whose sheer and fragile beauty frankly took Winters and Madison’s breath away. She was tall, but not as tall as Sethre Savcenes, and her tilted light brown eyes appeared seductive yet wise, in an indefinable way. She wore a sheer length of pale blue fabric over her hair, which was long and tightly plaited into a multitude of ornate braids, as well as a long sheer tunic in identical blue which covered a sleeveless shift-like garment of brilliant white, and flowing trousers of a similar material. Her earrings appeared to be sapphires, and she wore a single bracelet of brilliant gold upon her right wrist.

“Commander Winters, thank you so very much for coming to meet with us. Be most utterly welcome, gentle sir,” she smiled warmly and sincerely, and shook Winters' hand in a firm, confident handshake. Lifting his hand to her lips, she bussed it along its back, looking up at him through impossibly long black silken lashes. Winters felt his testicles tighten and his breath stop for a nanosecond. Wykvaya moved in more closely to him, and Madison smiled brightly, highly entertained by the entire scene.

She wondered if the beautiful councilor, who appeared to be surely past forty years of age, would address her in a similar fashion. When she did, Madison surprised herself by experiencing a visceral arousal as well.

“Please, the other persons with us here are gentle helpers, they will take your belongings for you and place them in my aircar. The city of Clymele awaits. Please…” He extended his hand in a magnanimous sweeping motion behind him, and the little entourage followed him the several yards from the airstrip to the waiting vehicle, which gleamed silver in the sunlight.

They rode along smoothly, flying over rooftops and barely skimming the tops of multicolored trees, talking animatedly and laughing, with the exception of Wykvaya, who was seated opposite his commander and remained somber, although, as Madison noted, the dark eyes seemed to sparkle mischievously whenever they came into contact with the blue-green orbs of their commanding officer.

// Ah, Wykvaya, there’s a bit of the Devil in you after all.// thought Madison, smiling somewhat ruefully.

“So, your states are broken up by region and are known officially as ‘territories’, then?”
Asked Lt. Nguyen, in sincere interest, frantically imputing data into her laptop. Sethre nodded, thoughtfully.

“Yes, this is a design inculcated by our lord, long ago,” he replied, stroking the underside of his neck, his long, gray-clad legs crossed elegantly at the knees. He cast an azure glance at Wykvaya.

“I suppose, gentle Mister Wykvaya,” he began, “that you are wondering how it was that I knew not to touch you with my hands…or lips…when I greeted you.” He smiled benignly at the chimera, who regarded him openly, and expressionlessly.

“I surmised that you were able to do some research regarding the customs of my kind of human, High Councilor,” Wykvaya responded, evenly.

“Indeed that is so, Mister Wykvaya. We have a highly functioning computer network, and use it exclusively for research purposes. Our lord felt it only fair to be as familiar with your ways as possible. For example, all of you descend from the same home world, do you not? Tear-ahh, is it?” He smiled toward the group.

“Well, in a sense,” agreed Lt. Nguyen. “I was born on Earth…Terra…in a region known as Southeast Asia, but I grew up on one of the lunar colonies, and later, moved in with my uncles family on Regula II. Have you heard of it, High Councilor? It’s located not far from here, actually, in terms of light-years. I was educated on Regula II, so in a sense I suppose I could be known as a Regulan.” She became silent, and pleasantly blinked her dark, tilted eyes at Madison, who was seated right beside her. The doctor smiled at her, then aimed a neutral smile at Sethre.

“Oh, ah, are you waiting for me?” she asked when the group appeared to look in her direction. “Well, yes, my homeworld is Earth, too, Terra, if you will. I was born and raised and educated in a territory known as Old North America, a small sector in its Southern region called Alabama.”

Lady Jamaspa smiled broadly. “You speak in such rich tones, Dahk-torr, your voice must sound superb when lifted in chant!” Madison appeared nonplussed, her mouth agape. The entire group burst into warm, convivial laughter.

“Oh, look, it’s the Guest House where you will all be staying during the negotiations,” Lady Jamaspa called out, her voice deep, feminine and mellifluous. Madison crossed her knees primly.

“Yes, there it is, just over the rise of trees, riverside. In fact, its called the River Crossing Guest House. I’m sure you’ll be most comfortable there, it’s the best of several here in Clymele. Our lord selected your accommodations himself, just this morning.” Sethre looked down from the aircar window, pointing.

“Your possessions will be waiting for you at the guest house once we’ve finished the introductory rounds of talks at the Hall of Conference, gentle sirs and ladies,” he continued. “I have your itineraries here, you may look them over now, if you wish. We break at mid-day, for the silence and some lunch, and a nice, long break. You can take a walk through the city, then, it’s a far better way to view things and get to know the people than an air tour. I will escort you, of course. After the break, we return to the Hall of Conference once more, continue our preliminary discussions, and break for the day. You will take supper with our lord in the dining hall at his city residence, and if you like, spend more time touring, or return to the guest house and get settled in for the evening, whichever you prefer.”

He reached into the inside of his high-necked jacket and pulled forth four neatly folded paper packets, as well as four disks, and handed them all to the group.

“Thank you very much, High Councilor. It would appear that we will have nothing but good to report to the Ambassadorial Corps. The city is phenomenal, I can’t wait to see it up close,” stated Winters, glancing at the printed itinerary, which had been thoughtfully printed out in what appeared to be some form of medieval Earth English mixed with modern on one side, and modern Hyperion on the other. Somehow, he decided, they’d manage.

The little group was quickly ushered into the Hall of Conference, a tall edifice constructed of dark wood and colorful blue and dark pink bricks, ornately decorated with a thick trailing ivy-like plant formation. The windows were wide and covered with reflective decorations which colorfully filtered the sunlight like stained glass, except they were tiny scenes of life in Clymele, the birds, the trees, the houses, the aircars, and curious looking equine-likes whose main dissimilarity to most equines Winters had ever seen was the fact that they were apparent sextapods--that and the large, curved ram-like horns which crowned their maned heads.

The mid-day air was a bit chillier in the city than out in the hinterlands where they’d first set down. Sethre explained that the season was early autumntide, and that at night there had been some frost, which caused some of the leaves in the thick trees surrounding the area to turn from green to red and gold.

They were ushered quickly into a long chamber with an enormous round polished wooden table in the center, and comfortably appointed carved wooden armchairs. A wall-sized window with its dark draperies pulled open graced one end of the chamber, and in the middle, a ceiling high painting of an extraordinarily handsome man, with large, soulful dark brown eyes and a thick braid of gleaming black hair, as black as Wykvaya’s, trailing over his blue clad shoulder. He held aloft some kind of multicolored symbol, similar to several symbols they’d seen as they walked from the air car down the road to the Hall of Conference, flying aloft from tall posts along the road.

Winters stared at the painting for quite some time, until Wykvaya approached him and stood close behind him. Winters could feel his mate’s warm breath upon the back of his neck.

“Would you care to take your seat, now, Commander?” came Wykvaya’s resonant voice. Winters turned to look up at him.

“Sure, Wykvaya,” he replied.“Is this the Bellerophon?” he asked the group seated at the circular table. They grinned enthusiastically and nodded in collective assent.

“You’ve never seen him, Commander?” asked one of the councilors, a man in his mid-sixties, with gray streaks in his auburn hair, which was parted down the middle and pulled back into a long, full tail which streamed to the middle of his back. “High Councilor Ravant, of the House of Thalihed, of Uvaka,” smiled the man, bowing his head as he introduced himself. “You’ve never seen our lord?”

Winters smiled broadly in response. “I’ve seen him in a holograph on a monitor, but only briefly. I was primarily informed of the upcoming proceedings by my superior, General Vasiliyov .” He looked back up the massive artwork. “I suppose the holo, being so small, hardly did him justice…” He felt the warmth of his husband's fingers as Wykvaya guided him firmly but gently to his seat. When he sat down, he noticed Lt. Nguyen looking up the painting as well, but Madison appeared transfixed by another mural on the opposite wall.

“Who in the nine worlds is this one?” the physician barely breathed. Winters stared at the image, a young man of no more than thirty, with two thick reddish-blond streaked bronze braids, which trailed over his shoulders to his chest, clad in an open white shirt, with what appeared to be glittering emeralds around his neck, ending in a pendant which appeared to be identical to the symbol held by the Bellerophon in his painting, and a series of tiny green and ice jewels embedded into his ear lobe and upper cartilage. His eyes appeared fixed to some object in the distance, his expression was somber and pensive. But it was his eyes that fascinated Winters the most. “Look, Jon, they’re so eerily similar to yours, don’t you think?” Madison turned to face him and whispered, reverently.

“He was the light of the sun, gentle sirs,” replied Lady Jamaspa, softly.

Just then, a commotion sounded in the corridor outside of the partially opened door, and there was a brief flurry of voices, dominated by one deep and rumbling one, slightly louder than the rest.

High Councilor Ravant rose, and facing Winters and Madison, grinned broadly. “Here he is, now, gentle sirs, our lord, Lord Khazarizhad is here!” The rest of the councilors rose and faced the opening double doors.

High Councilor Sethre Savcenes entered first, followed by a tall, athletically built man of no more than thirty to thirty-five years of age, with onyx hair pulled tightly back from his face, to reveal a high, broad forehead, thick, perfectly arched black eyebrows and the most beguiling set of large, deepset brown eyes Winters had ever noticed on a man. His lips were moist and full, bow shaped, and his jawline square, with a sculpted aquiline nose.

He was brushing at his soft purple tunic, and rubbing his hands together, as if they were sticky. The expression on his face, while somewhat dark, was essentially one of bemusement.
“Yes, yes, I know, I should have never stopped off at that crèche on my way here, of course, but how was I to know that the little klemdor was going to douse me with padaberry juice…I thought those little vessels they use were meant to prevent tumbling and…”

He looked over at Winters as the commander rose from his seat, and High Councilor Sethre continued to fuss over him with a white handkerchief stained with pink.

Wykvaya, who had risen also, observed the changes in Winters’ demeanor and on his face as he met the Bellerophon’s gaze.

The two men continued to stare at one another, across the divide of the table. Wykvaya looked from his mate to the Bellerophon and back again, twice, attempting to assimilate what he was witnessing. The commander frankly stared at the Bellerophon, his expression open, his lips parted and his eyes wide and sparkling golden.

The Bellerophon did likewise, his liquid sepia orbs virtually imbibing the sight of the starshuttle commander. Neither man moved, nor spoke.

Madison, who was standing just to the left of the impressive looking Bellerophon, watched carefully and analytically, mentally assessing the scene. //Last time I saw an expression like that on Jon’s face, we lost him for a full night in Regula's bar sector…and the last time I saw a look like that on Wykvaya’s face…well, dammit, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a look quite like that on Wykvaya’s face, now that I think of it…uh-oh…//

High Councilor Sethre apparently had been assessing the penetrating looks between his lord and the outworlder guest. He cleared his throat loudly. “My lord,” he began with a light, casual tone to his unctuous voice. “This is Commander Johannes Lucien Winters, of the Starshuttle Z'darr , and of course , this is Mister Wykvaya, the Commander's First Mate…” he extended his lo