Under the Eye of God

Under the Eye of God by David Gerrold Page A

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Authors: David Gerrold
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instant attention. She smiled inwardly. She could control this man. That made him worthy only of her contempt. She stroked herself meaningfully; she would arouse him to the point of lustful irresponsibility . . . and then she would rebuke him; a rebuke of deliberate sexual fury and rejection that would inflict the most painful sting.
    d’Vashti’s eyes followed the movements of her fingertips. But he did not react as the Lady intended. He had prepared for this meeting by dosing himself with an especially powerful restricting agent. Let the Lady wonder at her inability to arouse him and it just might increase his mystery to her, and eventually his attraction as well.
    Abruptly tiring of this ebb and flow of subtext, Lord Khallanin looked up and waved a slender finger at someone unseen. A servant-wasp appeared instantly from behind a screen, wheeling a silver cart before it. On the cart stood slender wine glasses and a decanter of frothy pink liquid. “Would you care for some refreshment, m’Lady?”
    Zillabar ignored the invitation, her gaze still focused on d’Vashti. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously—she understood immediately. d’Vashti had made himself immune to her sexual pheromones. By so doing, he displayed not only his intention of independence, but he implied a greater insult as well—that he might not choose to mate with her, even if given the opportunity. The Lady considered his subtle taunts as a very dangerous game. And yet—d’Vashti clearly understood that she found danger stimulating.
    Drydel had recognized it too. He placed one hand gently on the Lady’s shoulder. She acknowledged the gesture by glancing backward at him; then she allowed her diamond-tipped claws to slice delicately across the back of his hand. The gesture had a twofold meaning; she demonstrated ownership of his affections at the same time as she rebuked his impulsiveness. To Drydel’s credit, he left his hand on the Lady’s shoulder, even though delicate beads of blood appeared where her nails had drawn their edges.
    Watching, d’Vashti wondered if this time, perhaps, her nails contained a poisonous essence. One day soon, he knew, she would tire of Drydel—but Drydel wouldn’t know it until after the stricture had closed his throat for the last time.
    They waited in silence, each studying the others, while the servant-wasp poured the wine into the goblets. The creature wheeled the cart around for each to select a glass. The Dragon Lord waved her away, but the four Vampires each helped themselves.
    â€œA toast, perhaps?” d’Vashti invited the Lady.
    â€œGive me something to toast.” she demanded icily.
    Here, d’Vashti made a mistake. He should have let the matter drop. Instead, he allowed the merest fragment of his ambition to show; he said, “The service of Lord Khallanin’s people, perhaps? Surely their performance has brought you satisfaction and pleasure?”
    â€œThe performance of your Lord’s servants . . . ?” The Lady pretended to consider the thought. “The servants’ performance always reflects that of the master, Kernel d’Vashti. Don’t you agree?” The faintest edge of metal appeared in her voice.
    d’Vashti nodded. “As always, your words ring true.”
    â€œYes, thank you,” she said. “I would apply the word ‘adequate’ here, as an appropriate descriptor of the performance of your master and his servants.”
    d’Vashti realized his error too late. He had given the Lady an opportunity to rebuke himself and his Lord—and in front of a wasp! Why not just announce it to the entire world? He bridled at her delicately phrased assault, but he held his silence and waited stiffly for her to continue.
    The Lady Zillabar placed her wine glass on a table, the wine still untouched. “Have you located the TimeBinder of Thoska-Roole yet?” she demanded of Lord

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