There was a knock on the Prefect's door an instant before it was opened, and the centurion 'guard' admitted Par Com Sar.

  “Friend Sar,” Flea greeted him. He glanced up from the data slate in his hands, looked back down, and his head snapped back up again.

  The Spokesman for Evolution had donned a new set of clothes: a uniform. It was clearly modeled after the semi-dress of Flea's militia, but it was black instead of khaki, and piped in purple instead of blue. Rather than a beret, Sar wore a peaked cap, and its purple badge bore a smiling platinum face, disturbingly similar to the cyborg's own.

  “Friend Sar,” Flea repeated. It had never been so difficult for him to contort his face into a smile. “You've changed your look.”

  “Do you like it?” Sar asked. He strutted over to the open door of Flea's private bathroom, and appraised himself in the mirror with great complacency. “I designed it myself.”

  “You astonish me,” Flea said, and his smile was much easier to maintain.

  “Thank you.”

  “I had no idea Evolution could foster such ...singularity, and creativity among its constituents.”

  “I've been encouraged to self expression, to improve my diplomatic efficiency.”

  Flea almost laughed. He covered up his mirth by reaching for a cigar. “You'll be joining me for cigars and whiskey before long.”

  “Why not now?” Sar suggested, and finally tore its attention from its own reflection to sit down at Flea's desk.

  “Indeed?” Flea responded, and was grateful for the excuse to laugh a little. “Shall I light it for you?”

  “I think I can manage.”

  “You've come to tell me about the starport garrison's little excursion into my city then?” Flea guessed, as he poured out three glasses.

  “We've jammed all wireless comm channels,” Sar said sharply. “And still you know.”

  “Certainly.”

  “This communications network of yours is truly fascinating,” Sar said. “Are you able to reach other planets with it?”

  “Oh, I wouldn't want you to think it's so valuable as all that!”

  “We may insist upon knowing before long,” Sar threatened.

  “So the Andorrans got away then,” Flea guessed. He repressed the urge to applaud when Sar, after some difficulty, managed to contort its facial structure in such a way as to vacuum some little air through the cigar and produce a feeble puff of smoke.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Will you tell me the details?”

  “Sinsin Cu sent your young friend to the starport as a courier. While he was aboard the Mission Adventure, his vehicle was stolen: a means to get him to return on foot, so that he could be ambushed. We tracked and apprehended the infiltrator who stole the air car, but the team that abducted your friend appears to have been destroyed by their own sabotage. Perhaps they preferred suicide to being taken alive.”

  Ed needed just a few moments to be sure his composure had not and would not crack. “So, you'll be withdrawing your forces back to the star port then,” he said, more tremulously than he liked.

  “After we've excavated the building they collapsed. We would like to be sure they're actually dead.”

  “That's a job for me and my administration. There's no need to upset the civilian population than you already have, or run any risks of confrontation.”

  “We grow less averse to confrontation with every passing hour. Neither you nor Sinsin Cu have delivered anything of value. Our time on Ar Suft is approaching its end, and this secret communications network of yours is starting to look like a consolation prize for our wasted effort.”

  “I give you my word, I'll tell you all about it.”

  “But not right now,” Sar guessed.

  “Just as soon as Evolution has packed up and left my planet without having perpetrated another massacre.”

  “Of course.” Par Com Sar looked at its cigar and a made a noise like sighing. “It's just not the same without lungs.”

  “No, I imagine not.”

  Sar brought its whiskey up to its nose. “I can almost-” The cyborg's speech halted, and it froze in place. Almost as soon as it began, the cyborg's rigor ended. Sar set down the glass of whiskey and stood. “It seems your plan is finally bearing fruit,” Sar said almost pleasantly. “I've just been informed that your friend is alive. He's outside with some of the Andorrans who abducted him.

  “You can confirm it with your own sentries. Wireless communications have been restored.”

  Dallas and the Andorrans had been detained outside the Old Palace. Ensign Kitteler had excited some prejudice on account of his uniform and sidearm, and then animosity when he refused to surrender the latter. The sentries refused to allow him to enter until he was disarmed. Kitteler was still stubbornly resisting his lady's gentle entreaties when the Prefect appeared at the top of the steps and came skipping down to them.

  Flea sauntered up to Dallas in his usual way, wearing his usual smile. The firmness of his handshake was rather less typical however, and it was the only subtle sign of the extent of his relief and pleasure to see his young friend alive and well.

  “Ed,” Dallas began. Flea raised an eyebrow in gentle disapproval. “General Flea, allow me to introduce you to Lady Li Luna, of the Congress of Andorra. My lady, General Edward Flea, Prefect of Goodenough and acting governor of Ar Suft.”

  Flea bowed in the archaic way of the House of Monet. He kissed his lips and symbolically scattered his affection at the lady's feet with an extravagant flourish. He took half a step backwards as he did so, and bent deeply at the waist. He was delighted when Li reciprocated in the same style. She swept up up the scattered affection and clutched it to her breast with a curtsy.

  “You are very welcome my lady,” Flea assured her. He stepped forward to take her offered hand and kissed it, smiling his most devilish grin around her knuckles. Seeing the shadow of envy on Dallas's face and the consternation that followed, he grew cooler.

  “Forgive my rudeness for speaking out of turn sir, but I must beg you a favor. I've come to you in some desperation. Some of my companions are injured and are in urgent need of medical assistance.”

  Flea didn't bat an eye. “Sergeant Mann here will see to that they're taken care of. Joe, have them brought into the infirmary here, and fetch Doctor Sung from the clinic.”

  “They're in the van there. Ensign Kitteler will go with you. Thank you,” Li said to the Prefect, with a singularly charming tear in her eye. “Dallas told me I could count on you.”

  “And so you can! But I hope he didn't venture to make too many promises on my behalf.”

  “Only that you would be an honorable and gentle jailer,” Li said with a wry and altogether fetching smile.

  “Then you officially surrender yourself into my custody?”

  “I do, and I apologize for having trespassed on your world uninvited.”

  “Nonsense,” Flea began to say, but it was then that Par Com Sar 'cleared its throat.' Like everything about the cyborg, the noise was unnatural and disturbing: as was the leer its face had adopted.

  “Apologies friend Sar,” Flea said. He turned back to the cyborg loitering at the top of the steps and raised his hand.“Lady Luna, please allow me to introduce you to Par Com Sar, the designated Evolution Spokesman.”

  “I think not.”

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “Come now lady,” Sar admonished her. “There's no need to be rude.”

  “Our nations are in a state of war.”

  “Our nations are both client states of the Combine and therefore cannot be at war.”

  “A technicality Evolution exploits in every conceivable way,” Li replied. “We of the Congress of Andorra take a more consistent view of honor, law and treaty.”

  Par Com Sar threw its head back and laughed its squealing laugh. The sound of it made Li blanch, and her lovely face twisted into an expression of revulsion. “And yet you only pretend to surrender. Where are the rest of your forces, Lady Luna? Twelve commandos assaulted this man here, but you only bring a handful with you.”

  “The rest of my people remain in hiding for the moment,” Li told the Prefect. “I thought it best to do it this way. They'll join me as soon as I'm reassured as to their safety and good treatment.”

  “Quite right,” Flea assured her. He patted her hand, still held in his own. “Your prudence is only natural. I salute your sound thinking. Come, we'll discuss the details of their surrender in my office.

  “Dallas,” Flea turned to him.

  “Sir?”

  “Go on home and report what's happened to Professor Cu. You can take a car from the motor pool for now.”

  “Yes sir,” Dallas said, unhappily.

  “Now my lady, let's get out of this sun and heat.”

  It was a short meeting in the Prefect's office. Li had only needed to hear Flea's promise as to the safe conduct of her people, worded to her satisfaction. She was no fool; she left no room for half truths, and no wiggle room for technicalities. Flea's hands were firmly tied by his honor. It was then a simple matter of showing herself on the roof. Her people had eyes on the landing pad, and having seen her, she assured Flea that they would soon start arriving two or three at a time.

  Flea then brought her to the old Monet family apartments. They had been vacant ever since the family's desertion of their planet, but Flea thought it was only right that they should be turned over to Li. The Luna family was one of the most powerful in the Combine, and anything less than the best would have been an affront: even an absurdity. Still, the comforts were minimal. The Monets had taken most of their furnishings with them, and Flea's soldiers had to scramble to fill the empty spaces with anything and everything they could find. The result was something of a clutter, but that was better than bare marble.

  “I'm afraid we can only do so much for your comfort,” Flea apologized as they concluded the brief tour, and came full circle back to the antechamber. “We want for all but the most common of luxuries on Ar Suft, and there's a deficit of academy-trained servants, as I'm sure you can imagine.”

  “You're too kind,” Li assured him. “Running water is the only luxury I could ask for at the moment. I've been roughing it for some weeks. I must look dreadful.”

  “Not at all,” Flea laughed. It would have taken extreme, deliberate effort for Li Luna to be made to look dreadful. “There's water in plenty at any rate. And if there's anything else you need, you only have to mention it to the sentries. They'll get you anything you require if it's to be had.”

  “I suppose it's foolish of me to hope we might have a private word?” Li said. She looked at Flea's ever-present shadow: the militia-centurion, which had taken up station at the door.

  “Privacy is rather hard to find in the palace these days,” Flea said sadly. “I hope these rooms satisfy your needs,” he went on in a lighter, casual tone, as if changing the subject. “Nobody has used these apartments in years. They've been locked up and avoided by everyone. My people cleaned up shortly before your coming, but there's always a chance they missed a corner or hard-to-reach place, and I can't promise some errant dust bunny or cobweb won't find its way into your rooms in the future. We're only a militia after all, and not a proper palace staff.”

  “I appreciate your care and consideration,” Li sighed.

  She went to the window and threw back the curtains, but there was only creamy gold marble behind the maroon fabric. She looked at Flea quizzically, and his smile turned temporarily embarrassed.

  “I'm afraid when House Monet quit the planet, they left us entirely without funds. We had to salvage the window screens for our operations center upstairs. I might be able to have one or two of them replaced for you.”

  “Oh, please don't trouble yourself. I wouldn't want to be a bother.”

  “You're not confined to these apartments,” Flea reminded her, mistaking her thoughtful expression for unhappiness. “You're free to roam about as you choose: even go out into the city if you like.” Flea had her parole: her promise of good, orderly conduct. She was imprisoned as much by her own oath as he was constrained by his. Flea therefore had no inhibitions about letting her wander anywhere she wished.

  “You're very kind, but I was just thinking about the circumstances of this place. I can't even imagine not having the funds to replace something as simple as a window screen or computer display.

  “I thought Ar Suft was in an atrocious state when I first came here. If I'm being honest, I had a very very low opinion of you,” Flea bowed, his smile unwavering, “But I see now what an accomplishment it is to have staved off total anarchy.”

  “I've had help,” Flea admitted graciously.

  “Evolution can't have made it easy for you.”

  “They're certainly a complication.”

  “I took you for a willing collaborator with your occupier, but after speaking with Dallas, I see you as more of an umbrella, weathering a storm for your people.”

  Flea laughed. “He paints my portrait in a very noble light! Truth be told, I'm an ambitious, scheming scoundrel, and I have every intention of exploiting the advantages of your capture to my own ends.”

  “No doubt you'll use the funds to secure yourself a nice estate on a core world – Rouge Elena maybe?”

  “I had something a little more outrageous in mind.”

  “Oh?” Li's playful smile faltered. There was something troubling in Flea's tone and expression. He seemed altogether predatory now, and ruthless.

  “We have plenty of time to discuss it,” Flea assured her, reverting back to his usual, lighthearted self. “And I'll see what I can provide in the way of entertainment for you. Do you like to read? I have an extensive library. I'll send along something dramatic and full of intrigue.”

  “You're really too kind sir. Would it be too much to ask if you had Dallas bring it? I'd like to speak to him again.”

  “Certainly.”

  Dallas didn't believe it when he was told the lady had asked for him. His heart leapt for joy at first, and his look of elation vanished as suddenly as it came, replaced by a doubtful frown. He searched Flea's face for any signs he was being made game of.

  “You'll take her these,” Flea said, and held out a little stack of data slates. “I especially recommend the one on top. You'll tell her?”

  The love in the young man's eyes pained Flea extremely. A warning died on his lips, and his habitual smile took on a natural life of its own: such was the young man's joy. He had to be called back into Flea's office, having forgotten the data slates. Flea reminded him once again: “The one on top, Ensign.”

  “Yes sir,” Dallas replied, and he saluted in his halfhearted way. He lingered pointedly, waiting for a proper dismissal after Flea returned the salute. The general's arch, disapproving look couldn't keep the grin from splitting his face.

  “Very well,” Flea finally told him. “Off you go.”

  General Flea watched Dallas and Li through one of the many snoopers he had helped Evolution place in her apartments. He smiled at his young friend's awkwardness, and felt a full share in his nervousness.

  Li took the novels from Dallas, but ignored the important data slate: the one Flea had recommended especially, which bore a secret message from him. She took Dallas into a sitting parlor, and Flea watched just long enough to hear her ask him to spy for her: to find out what it was that Flea had in store for her and her people. Having secured Dallas's promise: delivered without a thought in his head, she leaned in to plant her full lips low on his jaw.

  “There it is,” Ellenstein growled. She didn't have Aunt Kay's love for Dallas, nor even the Prefect's friendly affection, but seeing his charming innocence exploited so heartlessly by a foreign agent filled her with all kinds of righteous fury.

  “Turn it off,” Flea commanded.

  “You don't want to watch them copulate?” Par Com Sar asked.

  Ellenstein smashed the power button on the screen, muttering something about perverted robots.

  “They won't,” Flea said. “Dallas isn't heartless enough to take advantage.”

  “She is,” Ellenstein muttered.

  Without touching the screen, Sar turned it back on, and silently reveled in Ellenstein's angry outburst and her frantic attempts to turn the screen back off. The screen flickered on and off as they warred, and Sar turned up the volume. Ragged breathing, rustling of fabric and the wet smacking noises of intense kissing filled Flea's office.

  “Really Sar,” Flea admonished. “You're being childish.”

  Sar relented, but continued to observe the young couple: privately within its own head, at least until it became clear that Flea would be proven right. The young man was outrageously demure, and the lady, utterly unused to inhibition, was humiliated by her apparent rejection. An argument had just begun between them when Sar closed its connection to the snooper.

  “What do you mean, by 'take advantage?'” Sar asked Flea.

  “She's a prisoner,” Flea explained, pouring swizzle over ice. He gave the glass to Ellenstein, who very much needed the smooth, restorative beverage. “He wants her to act out of love and attraction, and not because she's under duress.”

  “She isn't under duress.”

  “She's a prisoner,” Ellenstein repeated.

  “I don't see the relevance.”

  “You wouldn't,” Ellenstein muttered.

  “Dallas doesn't understand the dynamic between them,” Flea elaborated. “He thinks of himself as one of her jailers, and consequently, that he is the one with power over her.”

  “Strange,” Sar muttered. The cyborg became lost in introspection: absorbed in the subjectivity of truth as viewed between two faulty perspectives. Somehow, after centuries of existence, Sar had failed to realize that not everyone benefited from Evolution's perfect, impartial observations, free of all bias. The entity had, in effect, a monopoly on truth: access to it in its purest, unadulterated form. The thought no small sense of pride, until Sar was infected with a doubt. Did it have perfect powers observation? Hadn't Sar just needed explanation? “Excuse me,” Sar said, and it left Flea's office, deeply disturbed.

  “What are you planning for her?” Ellenstein wanted to know.

  “Really Dana?” Flea laughed at her. “You've known me thirty years. You should know me well enough to guess.”

  “I've given up trying to understand you. I thought I had you figured, but then you decided to stay behind and salvage this dump, when you could have gone anywhere in the galaxy. Odo thought it was Kay you stayed for, but I won that bet. You didn't go three weeks before you started screwing around.”

  “It was nine days, if I'm being honest.”

  “Light, Ed!”

  “Lieutenant Foley was very eager to get off world. So was his wife. Do you remember her?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I spent my whole life having to work 'round the clock to seduce women,” Flea said shamelessly. “It makes for poor practice when circumstances reverse and unscrupulous women start lining up to take advantage of me.”

  “So you're the victim.”

  “I didn't say that.”

  “So what are you going to do with this floozy?”

  “Sar guessed right away.”

  “That says worse things about you than it does me,” Ellenstein growled. “It's a wonder he hasn't asked you to integrate.”

  “Who says he hasn't?”

  “Ed...”

  Flea laughed. “I turned him down, Dana. Relax.”

  “Are you going to tell me or what?”

  Flea refilled Ellenstein's glass for her, and to drag her torture out, he slowly poured one for himself.

  “She's going to make me the next Lord of Ar Suft.”