Teams Part 2

The Count didn't waste any time acting on her intention; she had Thompson summoned to the Palace communications section, where she called HQMC and requested the E-Team's indefinite a.s.signment to Narvon System. Thompson filed his protest immediately, but it had no more effect than he'd expected; he and his team were a.s.signed to the Count's command.

She turned to him when the tech broke contact. "I don't think you will find my first commands too unpleasant, Captain. I would like you and your people to consider yourselves my guests; you are welcome to full use of all Palace facilities. I would also like you to attend a get-acquainted party tomorrow night."

Thompson had resigned himself to spending at least several weeks in this system; he found himself grateful that the Count was making it as pleasant as possible for them. "Thank you, my Lady. We'll be there; should we wear blues or civvies?"

"Whichever you choose, Captain. It will be semi-formal."

Thompson wore blues, more for the illusory protection of the dress uniform's high collar than for any other reason; the rest of his team opted for civilian wear. He thought King looked particularly sharp in the s.h.i.+mmer-cloth culotte outfit she'd had the fabricator make, and almost as soon as their group entered the Grand Ballroom he saw that he wasn't the only one. Several Kins, ranging from almost normal physique to near-starvation gauntness, surrounded her and began an animated conversation. Others started discussions with the rest of his team, leaving Thompson himself momentarily alone.

That didn't last long, however. The Count joined him, accompanied by half a dozen other Kins who she introduced as her Planetary Barons, her Chief of System Security, and the Head Nurse of the Palace medcenter.

"And you've already seen Detective Chief Enna Kaufman," the Count finished.

Thompson acknowledged the introductions with a certain amount of discomfort. He wasn't used to a.s.sociating with the n.o.bility, and it was unsettling for him to feel the restrained hunger they all radiated.

The two Security people were in the worst shape, and a moment's thought told Thompson it made sense; their jobs were unlikely to bring them into much contact with people willing to let them feed.

As they chatted about inconsequentials, Thompson had to keep himself from staring at the Kins' mouths, or getting within touching range.

The Count had read him all too accurately; while one Kin was relatively easy to resist, seven--two of whom were near starvation--made it an entirely different case, even though they weren't doing anything but stand there and converse. He was far too aware not only of their hunger, but of his urge to satisfy it. How the h.e.l.l was he going to resist this kind of pressure even for however long the party lasted, much less for weeks or maybe months? He sipped at a drink he'd taken from a pa.s.sing waiter's tray, wis.h.i.+ng for some excuse to leave, but he couldn't think of any. He couldn't even fall back on the Corps'

informal motto, because there was no dishonor involved.

"At least your teammates aren't refusing to enjoy what we can do for them," Kaufman said, gesturing as she chuckled.

Thompson turned, to see Sergeant Gottfried--his communications expert--in the arms of a tall, equally Nordic-looking man, her expression almost ecstatic as the Kin's mouth worked at her throat. Nearby he saw Audra, pale but looking pleased, with a pet.i.te Polynesian-looking Kin being obviously solicitous of her. Thompson shook his head ruefully, then turned back to his group. "It looks like you have a few more donors, at least as long as we're a.s.signed here." He hesitated, trying to decide whether he should go on, but the Count made that decision for him.

"Go on, Captain. I can see you have more to say."

"Yes, sir." Thompson took a breath, then did so. "As I told Sergeant King, I'd donate myself, as often as I could, except that I'm told that if I do it even once, I'll become a Kin. And that would cost me my career, something I'm not willing to give up."

"More to the point," the Count said, "you think it would cost you your team."

Dammit, Thompson thought, couldn't she give him any slack? "The only way it wouldn't, my Lady, is if you got the Emperor to a.s.sign them here permanently--which would ruin their careers. I say again, my responsibilities to my team outweigh my personal desires."

He hadn't kept his distance carefully enough; Kaufman touched his shoulder, then his throat, and he s.h.i.+vered with the promise of it.

"Captain," she said softly, "would it really be that bad, staying in this system? The human race, after all, was restricted to one planet for millions of years, and most people still remain planetbound for their entire lives. Believe me, Narvon System can provide enough challenge for you and your team. Have you asked them whether they would consider staying here with you?"

"No, I haven't," Thompson admitted. But he had to add, "I wouldn't, either, because I'm afraid they'd think I was pressuring them."

Kaufman eased her hand to the other side of his neck, and Thompson moved closer without quite realizing it. "Look at them, my friend.

They're feeling good, and I can a.s.sure you that anyone who's donated to one of us once wants to do it again." She chuckled. "The kind of pleasure we can give is unique, and you want the best possible for your people; wouldn't you like to give them feeding-pleasure yourself, as often as you could do it without endangering their health?"

That gave Thompson an entirely different point of view, and he moved still closer to the Kin, again without realizing it. "Yes . . . yes, I would." He did want the best for his people, and if he could get that in a way that also let him be even closer to them--

He felt lips at his throat, hard sharpness under their warmth, and knew he'd surrendered.

Then a large hand closed on his shoulder and he was pulled away, to stumble back against Corporal Nkomo's chest. "What--"

"No marks, sir; you're safe."

Thompson took a deep breath, coming back to reality as his team surrounded him. It seemed he'd been right when he told Audra he might need protection from himself. "Thanks, Corporal. And the rest of you."

"No problem, sir. Sergeant King said this might happen."

The Count smiled ruefully. "You have a very well trained team, Captain Thompson--but they cannot be around you all the time. Sooner or later, you will give in to your own desire."

He'd already come too close for comfort, Thompson thought bitterly.

The worst part of it was that it was himself he was fighting, not the Count--and whichever way the fight went, he lost. "That may be, my Lady, but they're here now. And they'll keep me from doing anything I'd regret later."

"Indeed," the Count said politely. "Then you will stay and enjoy the rest of the party."

That was an order, Thompson knew, not a request. "As my Lady Count wishes," he said, trying to conceal resentment from the others, if not from the Count herself.

"Good." The Count signalled a waiter, who approached carrying a tray loaded with foam-topped mugs. "Your records say you have a fondness for New Bavarian beer, something I doubt you can find very often. I can recommend this; it is their Oktoberfest Doppelbock, a brew I enjoyed myself before becoming a Kin."

Thompson didn't doubt that; it was a brew he'd heard quite a lot about, though he'd never been able to afford any. He reached for a mug, shaking his head when Nkomo tried to restrain him. "It's okay, Corporal. I'm in danger of becoming a Kin, not being poisoned. But if it'd make you feel better, you can taste it before I have any."

"I'll do that, sir." Nkomo took a deep drink, then handed the mug to Thompson, shaking his head. "Whoo! That's beer?"

"It certainly is," the Count said with obvious amus.e.m.e.nt. "Rather potent beer, I might add, though it is also quite smooth. Feel free to drink all you wish; my medcenter has considerable experience treating hangovers."

With that, the group of Kins broke up and began circulating. Thompson took a hearty drink from the mug he held, while the rest of the team took advantage of the Count's offer, accepting mugs of their own from the waiter. Not at all to his surprise, he saw that all of them had fang marks on their throats; when Nkomo lowered his mug, Thompson indicated the marks. "How was it?"

Nkomo rubbed the marks, grinning. "It was great, sir--like nothing I've ever felt before. I'm going to do it again, as often as they'll let me." He gestured resignation. "Not as often as I'd like, but the one who fed on me says they don't take chances on their donors' health; even if I dose with rapid-heal, which I intend to, I'm not allowed to donate more than once every four tendays. What they call a Cla.s.s Four Donor."

That seemed to be about average, Thompson found. Gottfried was a Cla.s.s Three, King a Cla.s.s One, and all the rest were Fours like Nkomo. Also like Nkomo, all of them intended to repeat the experience as often as they were allowed to. "And if you do become a Kin," King told him, "we want you to be the one who feeds from us. Mine said that it's good with any Kin, but best with someone you know and like or respect. And that a custom is developing for a Kin who leads a regular group of Donors to be responsible for taking care of them that way."

Thompson raised an eyebrow. "The Kin is responsible for feeding on @'s people?"

"Yes, sir. If you'd Donated, you wouldn't be questioning it, either."

"Maybe not," Thompson conceded. It did seem to make an odd sort of sense . . . but he didn't care to find out. "That's academic for the moment, though, so let's do what her Ladys.h.i.+p said, and enjoy the party."

The next morning, Thompson woke feeling hungry. That was something that almost never happened, especially when he'd been drinking the night before; breakfast, for him, was seldom more than a cup of coffee and maybe an English m.u.f.fin. Well, he knew where the guest dining room was, he told himself, and it was likely that Audra would be eating there; the rest were more likely to eat with the System Security troops in their chow hall.

She wasn't there, so Thompson took a small table and began scanning the menu as soon as he'd punched for coffee. That was delivered by a human waiter, not too surprising in a System Palace dining room, and Thompson was giving his order when King walked in. She looked surprised, but joined him at his gesture and ordered her usual Spanish omelet, toast, and coffee. It wouldn't be quite like the same items on any other world, but it was always how she started the day.

When their food came and Thompson cleaned his plate, then signalled for a second helping while she was barely halfway through, King gave her commanding officer a quizzical look. "Is everything all right, Cap?"

"Fine, as far as I know," Thompson said. "I'm just hungry."

"Hungry enough to eat two breakfasts when you normally don't eat any."

King frowned. "Cap--did Carlo pull you away before that detective chief got her fangs into you?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because some of the tapes I dug out--not the ones her Ladys.h.i.+p left for me--say that some susceptibles get hungrier than usual after they've become infected. But if she didn't bite you, you can't be infected."