bedroom. He stood and walked from the small office he had installed in his Bay Area Complex quarters to the larger sleeping quarters where a small bulbous form lay sprawled on the bed, its head raised in question.
“Shamreel, we’ve got a problem,” he said.
Shamreel squawked again, more plaintively this time. Mathew swore that that animal could read his mind, or his emotions at a minimum. She rolled over at an impossible angle, her long straight tail bracing her as she stood in the middle of the bed and looked at her master.
This was no ordinary pet. Shamreel was a genetically engineered throwback, a true dinosaur about three feet in height, with large muscular hind legs and small but functional forearms. She was currently a mottled gray, though she could change her hue at will, like a chameleon and she could shift from an almost pure white through most of the colors of the spectrum to a dark gray. Her response to emotions seemed to be the triggering factor. For the moment, the mottled gray indicated concern and caution but not fear. Shamreel was technically a Saltopus, the only one of her kind, and she was Mathew’s constant companion. Interestingly enough, she had never liked Wendy but had taken immediately to Archer, something she did not often do with females.
“I’ve just been given a mistress. Now what the hell am I going to do with a mistress?”
Shamreel cocked her head to one side like a dog and then darted for the clear wall of the bedroom, staring out at a small insect on the other side as it tapped against the invisible barrier of the transparent plastisteel. She was obviously no longer interested in his plight.
What would he do now? Certainly he would have to do something and quickly. Knowing Hans, Helson’s houseboy, he’d have Archer packed in a matter of hours. He could take him with her to the facility as he originally planned and that would buy him some time, but what to do after that? How was she going to like being passed around like a platter of beef? He had to speak to her, but he had to do it personally. There was no other way.
“Riker?” he called.
“Yes, My Lord,” answered the household control in a soft almost doleful voice.
“Pack for four days at the Bay of Naples Complex. Also, arrange with Lord Helson’s control to find suitable clothes for Archer Condrey, his, um, guest. She’ll be going with us.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the control said flatly.
“Have all luggage brought here for transport. I will return with Miss Condrey in about an hour.”
“Yes, My Lord,” the control said for a third time in the same flat voice. How Mathew wished he could have brought Caliper with him from the Rhoedraegon estate. At least that control had a personality. He changed his clothes hurriedly, choosing a cape, a brassard and appropriate shoes. For this he wanted to look his best.
He checked himself in the mirror. Mathew decided that he wasn’t too bad for the early side of thirty, tall and straight though neither as tall nor as muscular as his older brother, yet sturdy in a bookish sort of way. He wore an emerald velvet cape over his tunic and trousers, and the brassard across his chest that displayed the Rhoedraegon crest, a scarlet dragon swallowing its own tail, contrasted perfectly with the cape. He did not consider himself to be handsome, but he was pleasant enough to look at and he would admit to that. The women he usually chose had always been more interested in the cerebral type than the muscular chisel faced hero, so this suited him well. For a moment Mathew tried to imagine how he would look when his piercing dark eyes would lose some of their luster with age and his sandy hair would be flecked with gray. He quickly combed his hair to bring it back under control, gave himself a final appraising glance and left. In moments, Mathew was in the hall and headed for Helson’s quarters three floors above.
When he arrived at the guest apartments, Hans was waiting at the door. He bowed obsequiously, ushered him into the living area. “Miss Condrey will be here presently, My Lord,” he said.
Mathew glanced at the servant and frowned. “One moment, Hans, if you please,” he said.
Hans stopped and turned.
“You don’t entirely approve of this, do you Hans?”
“I am not in a position to either approve or disapprove, My Lord. It is not my place.”
“Be that as it may, you do not approve, do you? Speak frankly, Hans.”
Hans hesitated for a moment, looking directly at Mathew for probably the first time since he’d known the man. He thought for a moment and said, “No, My Lord. I do not.”
“Why?”’
“My Lord, I…”
“You are ordered to speak frankly,” Mathew said with slight irritation.
A moment more of hesitation and Hans said, “Miss Archer Conley is a lady in every sense of the word that has meaning. The way she’s been treated and the way she is about to be treated is a crime against all that I understand to be honest and decent.”
He waited for the wrath that he was sure was coming, but instead of what should have been a very violent reaction to his insolence, Mathew simply nodded, smiled and shifted his weight onto his left leg.
“Well,” he said, “I can’t argue with the first part of that statement. She is, as you say, a true lady in every meaningful sense of the word. I also agree that the way she has been treated is a crime. However, what is about to happen to her is not. I don’t know why I want you to know this, except that you have demonstrated a definite affection for the woman and have obviously acted as best you could as her protector, no easy feat when working for my brother.”
He thought for a moment, forgetting that he was talking to a servant of his household. “Maybe it’s because I’m trying to defend myself against my own worst thoughts. At any rate, I have never treated her as anything but an equal, and I do not intend to do so now. My brother has seen fit to transfer her care to me. My intentions are to continue to protect her and to offer her whatever assistance I can to get on with her life. She is not my property, either figuratively or literally, and I will in no way force myself on her or expect her to do anything against her will. That may not be much consolation to you, but I offer it because of your service to her and because I recognize your pain.”
Hans stood stunned. No Lord had ever spoken to him in such a manner and certainly not at such length. He was a commoner, a servant. He was of no more consequence than a service bot or household control. And the Lord Mathew owed him no explanation at all.
“I thank you for that,” he said at last, bowing deeply. “I apologize for my remarks and my attitude. I had no right to assume as I did. I am very grateful that Miss Archer will have you for a guardian.”
“For a friend,” Mathew corrected.
Hans turned and left. As he rounded the corner Mathew saw the glistening of a tear in the corner of the man’s eye. He fought the urge to cry as well.
Fortunately, Archer appeared almost immediately which helped him regain his composure and as was usually the case, he stood in stunned silence when he saw her. She entered demurely, as a slave not wishing to be noticed by her master, and fairly glided across the floor. Her five foot eleven inch frame was covered with a knee high traveling dress, gathered at the waist with a slightly flared skirt whose pleated folds fell naturally around her. Her jet black hair, blunt cut to shoulder length now, gave her a classic look that was almost childlike. Around her neck she
