The Morcai Battalion: The Recruit. Diana Palmer

of all species. They, of all Terravegans, even chose where they wanted to marry.

      Madeline gave him a cold look. Taylor glanced at the Cehn-Tahr beside her. “Some weird, unlawful combination, aren’t you?” he asked with disgust. “Does she know that trying to mate with you would kill her?” He sidled closer and put an arm around her. “But you’d do just fine with me...!”

      She jerked back from him just as Dtimun made an odd rumbling noise, in the back of his throat. Madeline didn’t understand what it was, but she risked his temper by kicking him, covertly, in the leg. He made another sound, dismayed and angry. Madeline turned quickly and pretended to stumble. Her foot shot out efficiently, just covertly enough to trip the ambassador and knock him flat on his rear.

      “Oh, my goodness, Ambassador Taylor, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed loudly, and rushed to his side as he sat up on the floor, cursing. “Sir, I’m very sorry!” she exclaimed. “I turned too fast and tripped over my big feet! I’m not used to skirts.”

      “You clumsy cow!” Taylor raged. “I ought to...!”

      “You don’t recognize me, do you, sir?” she asked Taylor quickly as the commander stepped forward angrily and heads turned toward them at the ambassador’s loud exclamation. “I’m Dr. Madeline Ruszel, medical chief of staff of the Holconcom. The commander is my C.O.” She indicated Dtimun, who was glaring at the ambassador with eyes a color she couldn’t quite classify. His posture was oddly threatening.

      “Commander?” Taylor blinked. He looked from one face to another and registered his surprise. He struggled to his feet. “What are the two of you doing here, dressed like that?” he demanded.

      “Covert ops, sir,” she whispered to Taylor.

      He swayed a little, then blinked. “Covert...? Oh. Oh!” He put his finger to his lips. “Shhhh.”

      “That’s right, sir,” she agreed, forcing a smile. “Shhhh.”

      He blinked. He was clearly over his limit. “I get it. Well, carry on, carry on!”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “I’m all right. Just tripped!” Taylor told his colleagues as he turned away from Madeline and stumbled toward the buffet table. “Will somebody get some more ice? These drinks are hot! Have to drink, this food is inedible!”

      Muffled conversation began again. The Altair ambassador was even bluer with anger. Dtimun took the opportunity to leave the room, followed closely by Madeline.

      They were outside, heading for the skimmer, when a curt laugh escaped him. “I should have you court-martialed,” he muttered. “The problem is deciding which charge to press—striking a superior officer or assaulting a diplomat.”

      She grinned. “The diplomat deserved far more than that, sir,” she commented. “Sorry I kicked you, but I was afraid you meant to add to the ambassador’s condition.”

      He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t admit that his temper had almost slipped its bonds when the drunk human had dared to put his hands on Ruszel. It was a behavior that was of some concern to him. It had not happened before with Ruszel. He was uncertain why it was happening now.

      The skimmer lifted and moved off toward the Cehn-Tahr embassy.

      Madeline was looking at him oddly. She was recalling what Taylor had said; that shocking comment that made no sense.

      Dtimun read it in her thoughts, but he said nothing. The ambassador was quite correct. If he attempted to mate with Ruszel, with his genetically enhanced strength, he would kill her instantly. But he couldn’t speak of that to her. It was forbidden. Intimate contact was, of course, impossible. He looked down at her, at her radiant beauty, and had to force his eyes away. She was unlike females of any race he had ever encountered. He found her intriguing. But that still did not explain his violent reaction when Taylor touched her. It was disturbing. It was not a military response. It was a very personal one.

      “Anyway, the sushi was nice,” she remarked, for something to say.

      He pursed his lips. “Yes. We prefer our meat and fish raw as well.” He wasn’t adding that they could eat them whole, as any feline predator could.

      She paused and looked up at him with open curiosity.

      “Stop there,” he said in her mind. “Some questions are taboo, even among Clan. We are forbidden to speak of cultural habits to any outworlder. Even a Holconcom physician,” he added with a smile in his tone.

      “We do know some things about your species,” she ventured.

      “From your black market videos?” he asked with amused green eyes.

      She gasped. “Sir!” she protested, flushing. “It has to be a breach of some sort of ethics for you to walk in and out of my mind!”

      He chuckled. “Of course it is. But, then, madam, I have a reputation for bending the law.”

      She had to admit that. It had saved their lives in many desperate situations, too.

      “As for probing your mind, that is not intentional. I read only what lies on the surface.”

      She gave him a demure look. “Good thing. I don’t fancy a court martial if you dig too deep,” she said with a gamine grin.

      He repressed a laugh and changed the subject. “Ambassador Taylor’s behavior should be reported,” he said instead.

      “Oh, please, sir, be my guest,” she invited. “If I report him, I’ll be mopping bathrooms, excuse me, heads, out on the Rim in the farthest outpost he can find for the rest of my military career.”

      He laughed. “Surely not.”

      “Afraid so. He, like all the politicians, has immense power in our society. It’s something we have to live with, in the military.”

      “I might drop a word in Lawson’s ear,” Dtimun pondered. “He, too, has connections in high places.”

      “That wouldn’t be a bad idea, sir.” She laughed. “But it is rather amazing, how much he seems to know about your race,” she commented.

      He didn’t answer. It was just as well that it didn’t occur to her to wonder why Taylor had such intimate knowledge of a race he purported to hate, which was the Cehn-Tahr. Although it was the Rojok dynasty into which Taylor had been initiated, for some years now. Rojoks, both allies and enemies to the Cehn-Tahr in times past, knew a great deal about their culture, and would share that knowledge with even a human who was working for them. Madeline didn’t know, and he couldn’t tell her. He didn’t want to admit how correct Taylor’s remarks had been.

      He was brooding. She could sense it; and not about the ambassador’s behavior. He wasn’t heading toward the skimmer. He seemed to have forgotten it was waiting for them.

      “Sir, there’s something more,” she began hesitantly, wary of his hot temper. “It wasn’t just having to sub for your ambassador at the Altairian embassy.”

      He turned and glared at her.

      “Oh, right, it’s okay for you to wear ruts in my mind, but I can’t discuss what’s going through yours. Sir,” she added. She cocked her head and looked up at him quietly. “Something is really disturbing you. I’m not prying. But if there was any way I could help, I would,” she added very gently.

      He hesitated. For once, his expression was almost vulnerable. His eyes narrowed, deep blue with solemn thought. “You are remarkably perceptive, Ruszel.” He drew in a long breath and when he spoke, it was only in her mind.

      “We have, in my culture, a day of remembrance when we honor the dead. It takes place in the Hall of Memories on Memcache. But if we are too far away, we observe the ceremonies here, on Trimerius.” His tone in her mind was somber. “I place a glow stone, a virtual collection of music, verses, poetry, for each of my two brothers.”

      “I’m