Friday Snippet

It's been a busy week! I have sent out eight submissiopns, and I have at least one more to go. I got a good amount of writing done and between bouts of back problems, I even managed to clean part of the house.

I suspect the world is going to end, but we'll just pretend like that's not going to happen and keep working.

This is another, slightly later snippet from Vita's Vengeance and introduces a second POV character. While the picture on the left isn't quite Kwillian, it does rather embody her attitude toward things. (Actually, it reminds me far more of Devlin, from a nice eight book series I've written... must think about reworking those again.)

And yes, that is my art work.

I hope you enjoy this week's work!

The snippet:


Kwillian Kim had arrived on the same shuttle as Alsandor Vita, which proved a fortuitous and unexpected boon for her. People watched the younger Vita heir, and didn't look twice at the tall, dark-skinned woman who left the shuttle four people behind the councilor.

So she arrived on Dasan without incident. The genescan didn't reveal anything extraordinary about her. She had no criminal record -- but only because no one had records on Lindy Pirates. She slipped through security with less trouble than some natives had coming home.

Kwi looked forward to the work of organizing local underground groups, preparing them for battles fought more often with brains than weapons. People didn't expect Lindy Pirates to be freedom fighters, but for her people it had proven to be an easy step. Besides, Jarak infringed on their usual work, being far better at taking what wasn't his than any Lindy Pirate had ever been at the work. Her people grabbed cargoes now and then; Jarak took whole worlds.

Kwi slipped off to the side of the lobby and found a chair, putting her bag at her feet. She enjoyed watching the Vita boy take on the press like a pro -- although the line about his wife got a snicker out of her. Amusing and unintentional, if she could judge by how he blushed.

What did surprise her, and everyone else, was the attempt on Alsandor Vita's life.

If she'd had any prior indication of trouble, Kwi would have been faster to follow the assassin. Years of training had made her automatically mark the position of everyone around her when she arrived in the building. She knew where the assassin had gone and grabbed her bag, darting down the walkway between shuttle gates after him though he had already disappeared.

Then, cursing at her own stupidity, she realized half the guard in Kaiton would be looking for anyone suspicious. She quickly turned back to the lobby. As she had expected, two guards reached her as she came out of the hall. Kwi gave them her best, disarming smile -- the one she had worked on for years. She held out her ID chit and they ran it through the pocket comp one of them held. Old equipment, a bit outdated. If they'd run it through the Lindy-made pocket comp she carried it would have told them the ID was a fake.

"Kwillian Kim, Sofi Islands," the first guard said. "Do you want to explain why you were following the other man?"

"Following?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder, feigning confusion. The accent was a very good imitation she had learned from her grandfather, whom Kwi had mimicked from an early age. It made her perfect for this assignment. "I didn't see anyone else in the hall."

The guard held out the comp and showed her a vid sequence. She watched a man who knew how to keep his head bowed away from the cams -- yes, well-planned, he knew the place. A professional. Nice of the guards to share so much information with her, she thought with a concealed grin. Then she watched herself, tall, dark and lanky, moving along at a good clip not far behind him. She wished the sequence hadn't ended before she saw where the assassin went.

"Oh yes," she said, and nodded emphatically. "That's me."

"Why did you run?"

Kwi looked down at her feet and then back up. "I just spent a year on Enil. When there's trouble there you get away as fast as you can before the Verdi Elite show up. I was half way down the hall before I realized there aren't any Elite on this world. So I turned around and came back."

It was a good answer, and it worked because they knew she hadn't met the man. Their questions allowed her to do a little of her own work, giving answer hinting at the trouble people faced with the damned Verdi Elite in charge.

"Thank you for your cooperation," the guard said, handing back her ID. "May I ask, given the situation on Dasan, why you're coming here now?"

"I wanted to go home," she said. "I haven't been here in years and I thought... Well, the other choice is to leave the Aquila Fringe completely. At least I have family here."

He nodded and asked no more -- and that, finally, unsettled Kwi. The acceptance said volumes about the current atmosphere in the army in ways she couldn't have gleaned from Vidline reports. These people expected Jarak to arrive and they expected him to win. It was a logical belief, but the attitude would make it harder for Kwi to do her own work.

"We'll have this business settled soon. I see you're taking the Sofi shuttle in two hours. It shouldn't be delayed."

"Thank you."

She went to the nearest row of chairs and sat, trying not to fidget as they worked their way through the rest of the room, interviewing everyone. She watched as General Taren arrived, and not long afterwards a shaken Alsandor left with him. At least he walked away, and from what she heard the medic say to the reporters, it had been a matter of luck.

Kwi wanted answers, but she knew she didn't dare ask for them. Instead, she bowed her head, closed her eyes, and concentrated on listening to the people around her.

"I don't know why," a man said a few chairs away. "Why would anyone do that to Elisa?"

Odd line, since the attempt had been on Alsandor's life, though the man did have a point. Elisa Vita Taren would have suffered at the loss of her brother. Did someone want the President of Kai occupied with a personal crisis right now?

Jarak might, of course, but he wasn't the only one. Director Ivas of the Anon District certainly might like a distraction if he planned to make another push at the border. She had heard rumors of preparation for such an action, which annoyed the hell out of her. She liked to think the people she came to help were better than the Verdi.

Being a spy was such a damn, tedious strain on her morals.

Busy Night

Okay, first... is this a great picture, or what? That's a cicada, just out of his shell, so to speak. Russ found him and came and got me. I love this shot!

I know I've been lax here for a while, but I was ill, and then I was busy, and then I was ill and busy... and I pretty much ran out of all energy. I thought I was past the worst of it until the afternoon of the third, when I leaned over to clean the cat litter and felt something go 'rip' through my lower back. Oh my, did that hurt. And I said things that even sent the cats running. I somehow managed not to fall -- lucky for me, considering the job I was doing -- and hobbled into the office, and then finally to bed. It's been five days and it still hurts, but today I could finally stand up straight, cook dinner, do some dishes, and generally get on with life.

Yay!

In fact, for the last two days I really got back to life the way it should be. I pointed out that I've fallen behind on submissions, something that really bothers me since I've kept it up for ten years. Russ suggested that I rewrite two short stories and get them out this weekend. And you know what? It worked. I pulled three stories up (Yeah, yeah, always overachieve when it comes to writing) and started rewriting. They were basically good ideas with bad development. I worked on nothing but those stories for the last two days and I'm printing out one of them now. Cover letters are done, SASE is ready for the first one, and tomorrow they will go off into the mail. Or Monday.

Ah! First one done! Stolen Moments is ready to wing its way to Asimov's! It is all nestled away in its nice little envelope. I never fully believe that the stories will sell, but you know, it's still exciting to get them all ready and allow myself a little whisper of hope that this one might the right one. It's a good story. I don't know that it's right for Asimov's, but I'll try anyway.

Even more daring, I've got one to go to Analog this time. Oh yes, and the other will go to Fantasy and Science Fiction Magazine. Might as well do the big three all at once. F&SF is a fast turn around.

I'm printing out Tanon for F&SF now.

I'm not certain the last time I thought I had anything even remotely right for Analog. That is, by far, the hardest of the three to break into because of the tech side of the stories. I write adventure SF, and while those stories can (and usually do) rely on some tech, it's not enough to fall into their work.

But this one... well, we'll see.

Okay, it's later now. I've printed off two stories, and then I made myself do the final edit on a preface and first chapter that I needed to send off to a publisher who had asked for a chapter. It took me too long to get it done because of being so ill. I didn't even realize how ill I'd been until I got better again.

I sent the stuff off through the email. We'll see if he likes it or not.

I guess it's my night to be daring, although I made such an odd noise after I hit send on that email that I startled cats. But it's done and gone, and that's good.

You know, this has been a fun night. A shame it's already 3:36 am!

Friday Snippet!

I'm going with the next section of the chapter from last week. Right now I'm in the midst of working on nonfiction and rewriting short stories, so neither would really work.

Besides, Vita's Vengeance is a fun story, and I've edited a couple bits even while I fix it up to go here. Every little bit helps!

So, Chapter 1, Part 2:



"Call Madame President!" the man shouted.

"No!" Alsandor caught the ankle of another who had started to pull his commlink. The touch hurt like hell, sending pain radiating in waves through his body, but he didn't let go. He had to fight to speak. "No! She'll come here. Don't tell her! Assassin might... want her. Someone -- Trine --"

"Get the port's medtech!" another ordered. He heard shouted orders about sealing off the building, but Alsandor knew they were already too late to catch the man. He'd been good, quick, professional....

Soldiers swiftly moved Alsandor into a small, cluttered office. The movement made him ill. By now color and sounds began to blur. Someone brought the medic. After a quick scan he pushed an injection into San's neck, followed by another scan before he started to look less worried.

"Damned lucky," the man said. Alsandor could already hear better, and the room colors had stopped melting into each other. "You've already taken Anticol recently, didn't you?"

"Y-yes," he said in a gasp for breath and words. "Two doses, earlier."

"You'd be dead without them. Trine has a chemical make-up very close to alcohol. With the proper flavoring added, most people can't tell the difference, and if there's alcohol already in the blood stream, it acts as a catalyst and speeds up the reaction. Anticol, praise God, is the best antidote we have. You were hit with an extremely strong, concentrated dose of Trine."

Alsandor barely nodded, the world still too bright and painful.

"Here, this will help deaden the nerve fire." The med carefully pulled off Alsandor's jacket, and gently pushed up the shirt sleeve. He placed an injector against Alsandor's wrist below an ugly red and brown spot where the stranger had touched him.

Someone had tried to kill him?

The door slid open, startling Alsandor, though he nodded with relief at the sight of Micah -- and then worried again when he saw his brother-in-law's frantic appearance. Nothing ruffled General Micah Taren, but there he stood without his uniform cap, brown hair looking wind-blown, and his jacket unbuttoned.

"They called me as I was getting ready for Council," Micah breathlessly reported. "--and said you'd taken Trine Poison --"

"Not taken," the medtech corrected so brusquely that Alsandor felt chagrined. He didn't realize he needed defending on a charge of suicidal tendencies. The doctor indicated the discolored spot on Alsandor's bare right arm. "Someone tried to kill him. He's lucky he survived."

"Oh damn." Micah abruptly sat down on a chair. He put a hand to his mouth and away again, a gesture San knew reflected agitation. "Why didn't someone call Elisa?"

"Told them not to," Alsandor said, taking short breaths, hoping to ease both the pain and the panic. "Didn't know where the assassin went. He might have tried to kill me just to lure Elisa here."

"That makes sense. You aren't important enough --" Micah stopped, and looked horrified. "I'm sorry, San. That was a damned impolite, and thoughtless, thing to say!"

Alsandor managed to lift a shaking hand and wave away the apology. "It's all right. I was thinking the same thing."

"That's not fair to you. You are important. Why do you think Ranifyn spends so much of his energy trying to convince people you should be removed from Council?"

"Because he likes easy targets."

"Then why do you make it easy for him? No, never mind. I'm being unfair again. You're obviously not in condition to be badgered."

"He will be better as soon as the poison works its way through his system. Probably by tomorrow -- though it may take longer. It's hard to say." The medtech started packing up his equipment, glancing at Alsandor and then at Micah. "The amount of Trine would have killed him within the hour if he hadn't already had the Anticol, which immediately neutralized the worst of the poison. There would have been damage no amount of regen could have fixed in time." He stopped and looked at Alsandor. "Be careful. It doesn't matter why this person tried to kill you. He wasn't playing games."

"Thank you," San said, and carefully shook the man's hand, though his fingers still tingled with a latent hint of fiery pain. He had to fight to keep the panic from showing as he watched the man leave.

"Tell me what happened," Micah said drawing his attention. The General looked more himself again, at least.

Alsandor related the incident as best he could. Micah listened and nodded. The vidcams, both in Port Authority and from the reporters, would probably reveal more.

With the tale done, San carefully pulled the shirt sleeve back down over his arm. The skin looked discolored and puffy from wrist to elbow. By the time he finished he realized Micah had been quiet for far too long. Alsandor looked up to find his older brother-in-law staring at him again.

"This is a hell of a way for you to come home, isn't it?" Micah finally asked.

"I --" He stopped short of telling Micah he'd considered not coming back. "I'm rattled. I'm sorry."

"You needn't apologize to me. What you do need is to see the family medic and have an escort home --"

"No, no. I'm going to Council. I received a message from Elisa to get there as soon as I came in."

"Don't be ridiculous, San. You're pale as a ghost, and shaking. I don't think you really want to sit through a meeting, do you? And for a little extra incentive to go home instead, Ranifyn has already announced he will make an important speech today."

San winced at the thought of listening to one of the senior Councilor's special important speeches. Councilor Ranifyn loved to hear himself speak. San didn't want to sit through it -- but then considered the alternatives.

"Better Rani then Idela. I'll go to Council. I don't want anyone to make points on this one, Micah."

"You weren't listening to the medtech. This isn't a game."

"Did you tell Elisa what happened when you left? What you thought happened?"

"No," he said with a grimace. "I didn't really think you had done it on purpose, San. You wouldn't do that to Elisa. I was just so rattled and scared when I saw you -- you looked like you were going to fall over dead at any moment."

He hadn't expected Micah to sound so emotional about it. "Elisa will know you were called away. She'll probably know you went to the port, and suspect it has to do with me. She's going to be worried," San said. "I'll go to Council, sit through Rani's speech -- what is it on this time?"

"A statement of vast importance is all we've gotten. Elisa and I think he heard you were on the shuttle, and --"

"He has a spy on the ship," San suddenly surmised.

"That's what Elisa thought, too. Amazing how much alike you two think. And it's why Elisa ordered the ship's captain to make certain you were stone-cold sober when you reached landfall."

"And saved my life." He rubbed at his sore arm, and winced. "So, I have Rani to thank for being alive."

"Unless he's the one who sent the assassin." Micah shook his head before San could protest. "No, the last thing Rani wants is for you to look like a martyr."

"Exactly. Let's go to Council. It doesn't matter of I'm not drunk, Micah, if I'm not there anyway. And I really don't want to go home to Idela yet. Yes, I'd much rather face the entire Council and a speech from Councilor Ranifyn instead."
"You should divorce her."

"Not until Elisa says so."

Micah's head came up with a start. Amazing to see General Taren startled twice in the same hour. "Is that what you've been waiting on? Good God, Alsandor Vita! 'Lis and I have spent months trying to figure out what the hell was stopping you!"

"Well you could have mentioned it to me," he said and knew he sounded cross this time. "Elisa is the one who suggested I marry her, you know."

"Oh, damn. I'm sorry, Alsandor. That's been a stupid mistake from the beginning! She hoped to bribe Jarak with the promise of a claim to the Vita Fortune until outside protests against his other aggressions finally slowed him down. Unfortunately, no one outside really gives a damn."

"I know. I came back from a very graphic exercise in learning how little they cared." He carefully pulled his jacket into place.

"And you went along with the marriage," Micah said.

"Absolutely. I don't want Jarak to take Dasan, either. A shame it didn't work. I think all Jarak really wanted was an heir to the Vita fortune."

Micah tilted his head as he looked at Alsandor. "And you've been damned careful he doesn't get an heir, haven't you?"

"This something else you and Elisa talk about?" San asked, feeling unexpectedly amused by the thought.

"Oh yes. Your sex life is such a nice diversion from the threat of war."

The View from the Top

This is in answer to this blog: http://fetuslantern.blogspot.com/

I'm not going to post it there because it's obvious, in this case, that we will not agree and I don't see any reason to go through all that again. But I do have a very definite view on this one, so here you go!

Show me your credentials before I listen to anything you have to say. What? You haven't been published? Then you cannot possibly know anything of worth.

I guess critique groups, which usually don't have the luck of having someone who is published among them, are useless then. And advice, no matter how good it might be, should be ignored unless the person can prove it worked for them. Never mind if they got the advice from someone else, or even -- unthinkable! -- they happened upon something helpful all on their own. That, of course, has never happened to any of the already published authors.

I agree that published authors have better insight into a good many aspects of publishing that those who are not yet published do not. People should listen to them, and should weigh their advice above everyone else's. It drives me nuts to see them ignored and insulted -- which is usually done by the people who are desperate for attention.

Published people have been there. They know what they're talking about, and someone looking for answers should always listen to them if they're willing to offer help.

However, don't summarily dismiss anyone who hasn't reached publication. Let's look at how silly this is: Writer A comes to chat and suggests to someone looking for help that he should try doing 'this.' But Writer A isn't published, so the suggestion is bad and should be ignored. However, a week later Writer A has a major contract from a book company, so now what Writer A offers as advice is good -- even when it's the exact same thing.

Writer B is working on his first novel. He's found something that helps him chart out chapters. But he hasn't finished even one book let alone a couple dozen, so his advice is no good.

Advice has to be weighed for what it is, not from whom it comes. I've seen bad advice from published authors, especially at conventions, and I've had some good advice from people who rarely write at all. Your best bet, always, is to get advice from a number of different places. Check it out. See what works for you. Be willing to try different things, but be wise when it comes to the finished product.

Credentials? My own include small press publications, dozens of ebook publications, ezine and print magazine publications, hired as an assistant publisher for one of the larger ebook companies, took a year long class from Writer's Digest under Holly Lisle... Oh, and I've written over a hundred novels and nearly as many short stories. Guess what? I still listen to others when they give advice, no matter where they stand in the writing/publication path.

Listen to everyone. It doesn't hurt. Try different things. Be wise when you are getting advice from professionals and make certain that advice applies to you and your work, because not all of it will. Be even wiser when you listen to people who don't have the kind of credentials that make them an acknowledged 'expert' but don't dismiss them just because they haven't reached that spot yet.

Friday Snippet

Okay, I'm just a little late!

This is part of the opening to a novel, Vita's Vengeance, which I have on my short list of t0-be-edited-real-soon-now material. I have one other partial novel to get done before it, and if I can just get past feeling awful and start concentrating on things again, there's a chance I'll get to it!

When I did the picture to the left, I had this novel specifically in mind, though not the scene I'm going to post here. This is somewhat long. I hope you enjoy it.

***

Alsandor ineffectually protested as the medtech held him down, his face pressed against the sofa's rough cushion.

"Problems?" someone asked.

"No sir, I can handle him," the woman said, her voice a harsh growl, and her hand pushing hard against the back of Alsandor's neck. "He's too drunk to be any real trouble."

She shoved an injector against Alsandor's neck with enough force to bruise. In the next heartbeat, something burnt through his body like fire rushing through blood -- and he went from dead drunk to so clear-headed sober it made him ill.

"Damn!" Alsandor growled as the stocky woman stepped quickly away.

He sat up, taking quick short breaths to fight away the queasiness. The small, private cabin of the shuttle stank of liquor. A bottle of something -- empty -- lay on the floor by his feet. He didn't see a glass. He hadn't drunk straight from the bottle had he?

Damn, damn. He hated this. Alsandor ran his hand through his long, snarled hair wondering how it could get so bad in the few short hours since he left the ship for the shuttle.

"Orders, sir," Captain Hanson said from the cabin's doorway. The man shifted from one foot to the other. "From Madame President herself."

Elisa's instructions -- of course. They wouldn't have dared treat him like this without a command from someone higher in authority than his own mere claim as co-owner of the ship line. Wealth, and the temporal power of the rich, meant nothing in the face of a dictate from his older sister, Madame President Elisa Vita Taren.

"Councilor Vita?"

Alsandor scowled at the title. It meant less here than it did in the council chambers in Kaiton, which was damned little enough.

"The shuttle lands in less than an hour," the Captain said when he looked up. "I trust you will...be ready?"

"I've put enough Anticol in him that he can't get drunk again," the medtech said, an angry snarl of words as she went out the doorway.

"Ah, you see, Captain," Alsandor said, his voice soft and without rancor. He'd been trained all his life never to show his emotions, especially when it might be politically inappropriate. Always remember how it will reflect on Madame President. "I'll look quite presentable when we reach the capital."

The Captain nodded, and left the private VIP cabin with the frowning medtech a step behind him. "Such a damn waste," she said out in the hall. "Why does she bother --"

The door slid shut, saving Alsandor from listening to the familiar tirade: Why does President Elisa Vita Taren bother to keep him around, let alone appoint him as her advisor to the Kai Council?

Alsandor knew the answer, and it was a shame no one bothered to ask him. She kept Councilor Alsandor Vita because he did anything she asked -- Voted for what she wanted, researched what she needed, and said what she wanted said when it was ill-advised for her to do so. No other politicians in her cadre could be quite as well trusted, even among her most ardent followers. Elisa wasn't a fool. She knew the worth of a brother who had learned to let her run his life at a very early age.

People asked why she bothered to keep him around, but no one asked why he stayed. It was probably just as well. He had no blithe, easy answer.

A cleaning bot scurried out from the wall and grabbed the bottle and the glass wedged under the sofa. See the glass was a small salve for his pride.

A glance at the desk's comp display confirmed what the Captain had said. Dasan completely filled the screen with blue mountains, green and brown farmlands, and the rugged coastline lining the wide aqua sea. The Sofi Islands slipped over the edge of the screen as he watched.

He wished Elisa had given him a little more credit for not being stupid. Before he started drinking he'd taken a timed Anticol dosage. In fact, it kicked in as he thought about it, redoubling the headache with enough force to make him gasp and close his eyes, waiting for the drug's first wave to burn through. He would have been completely sober when he reached the port without her interference. This had been intended as his last -- and private -- binge, banished with Anticol before he stepped out in public.

He wondered if he would hold to his resolve this time. It had been easier, away from the pressures he faced here, not to drink.

The war is coming. His mission to ask aid of the Inner Worlds Council had been a total -- though not unexpected -- failure. The IWC hadn't helped the other Aquila Fringe worlds of Jade, Milanda or Enil, either. Nevertheless, Elisa sent him. It had been tedious, futile work, done for the sake of propriety and nothing more. They couldn't leave such an obvious stone unturned for her political enemies to exploit when she most needed everyone's cooperation.

General Jarak wouldn't have much trouble taking Dasan. The Kai and Anon Districts, still embroiled in their perpetual border dispute, prepared for the larger war but hadn't come to terms with each other -- dividing any strength they might have had. The Sofi Islands remained quiet and neutral, and the half dozen other, smaller districts couldn't have gathered enough military forces to fend off an invasion of cleaning bots.

Restless now, as well as sober, Alsandor watched a few minutes of the Vidline feed, grimacing at the sight of Jarak everywhere in the news. He'd grown tired of looking at the man. Besides, Jarak looked too much like his daughter, Idela. At the unwelcome thought of his wife, Alsandor reached toward the liquor case, and stopped with a curse, remembering why he had such a headache.

Maybe he'd get lucky and Idela had finally gone home to Verdi during his long trip to the Inner Worlds. He didn't know why she'd held on for the last two years despite her obvious dislike for Dasan, and her hatred for him.

And why hadn't he let go? Ah, he easily answered that one: because Elisa, who had suggested he marry Idela, had not yet bothered to suggest he divorce her.

Damn bitter thoughts and he shook his head, welcoming the bite of pain from the headache because it chased away the other thoughts. He grudgingly turned to the work of looking presentable for the people who would judge Elisa by his behavior.



When the shuttle disembarked at the Kaiton Port, Alsandor Vita passed the Captain at the airlock with a friendly, parting smile. Hanson looked surprised and then pleased. Vita charm -- it was one of the few things Alsandor could honestly say he had in common with Madame President. He also shared so much of the same facial features that he'd taken to wearing a short beard and longer hair in attempt to end the constant comments about how much he looked like his sister.

The short walk down the well-lit corridor took him to the port's entry gate. A group of second-string local reporters had turned out to meet him. Obviously, it was a slow news day.

Alsandor straightened his jacket and hurried to the semi-opaque glass of the scanning arch where the computer verified his identity. Scan lights blinked, held, and blinked again, showing the machine had been set for the highest priority, although the full genescan took several seconds longer to complete. People would complain, of course. For Alsandor, though, this proved the first real indication of serious trouble on Dasan. Something had changed since he left ten months before.

He started to step out of the scan booth when a small screen came on, and he found himself unexpectedly looking at his sister. She sat at her desk, shuffling through some papers. The words recorded message flashed in small red letters at the bottom left.

She looked up at him. "San, I checked the schedule and see your shuttle will be down in time for today's council meeting. Try not to be late."

The picture faded. No words of welcome. No hint that she was glad to see him back. A please would have been nice.

"Scan and messages are completed. Please move on."

The computer was more polite than his sister. He looked over his shoulder to gauge the distance back to the shuttle. He owned the damned craft. The crew couldn't turn him away.

The computer chimed on again. "Please state the nature of your problem so we may summon proper aid."

A half dozen answers sprang to mind, of which I hate my life seemed the most appropriate. However, he moved forward into the lobby's main room, with the redstone floor and the pristine white walls. The chairs where people waited for flights were mostly empty but the place still seemed busy. Guards stood in a few locations -- more than had been on duty when he left Kaiton.

Alsandor stepped into view of the reporters with a smile set on his face. He buried the anger at Elisa's message along with any feeling of despair, before the reporters could see it in his eyes.

They asked a flurry of the usual questions, to which he gave the equally usual, meaningless answers. Excellent trip, no problems. No sign of trouble. I am not at liberty to discuss the mission before I report to Madame President.

He started to turn away, preparing to go to Council. He had wisely written his report before the ship slipped into the system, and had spent an hour on the shuttle going over it before he opened the liquor cabinet.

His head pounded still.

"I suppose you're anxious to get home to your pretty wife," Bela from Kai Times said as the others started to pack up their equipment.

"She's still here, then?" he asked absently.

A chorus of laughter erupted from both the reporters and the few people gathered nearby. Idela would have his head.

"Yes, Idela Jarak Vita is still at the estate," Bela said. Alsandor could see her delight with the sound bite. "You're not anxious to get home?"

"Oh, I can't wait to get home," he quickly answered, and it was even true. He loved the estate. "But, alas, I've already had a message from Elisa to come to the Council Meeting. I had better get there before it's called to order. Thank you."

He gave a polite nod, ignoring her frown. He'd already given her more than enough to get him in trouble. He walked away, a quick but polite parting.

"What a surprise. Sober," Bela said loudly behind him.

He didn't allow his step to falter or the smile on his face to waver while the others watched. Elisa wouldn't like a scene within the hour of his return home. Which was why he wasn't drunk, of course.

Someone patted his arm. Alsandor smiled (always be polite, never bring disgrace to Elisa's name), but the man had already turned away. At least it had been a little show of kindness.

Alsandor walked another half dozen steps before he realized his arm hurt, and in the next breath the pain spread through his body. He paused in mid-step and his legs gave out. As he went to his knees he inanely thought the reporters would believe him drunk after all.

It hurt to breathe, and his sight blurred with each gasp. Guards arrived at a run, and a view of the familiar black uniforms reassured him. Safe....

When he started to fall forward a guard quickly knelt and caught his shoulders. The touch brought a fire-like pain through his arm, and it radiated through the rest of his body. He looked down to see his right hand already covered with tiny blisters.

Trine poison.