Rogue in Velvet

Chapter One

     Good evening, sir, madam, and welcome to this year’s Institute of Neuronics Winter Charity Ball. May I take your coats?
     “See, Daani? Aren’t you glad you came?”
     “Mm. I’ll reserve judgement until we’ve been here a bit longer,” relinquishing her heavy winter jacket, Daani – Eria’dane Dawnstep – didn’t feel quite so excited to be here as her friend. She was a dainty young star-marked “fawn-and-chocolate” Vulline, average of height and short of pelt, and if you discounted her consort Uuvern, a good-natured honey-bronze-scaled Ondrai neuronicist and one of her flatmates, she had absolutely no connection to this society whatsoever. She had no links to this community, no understanding of it, or even any interest in “Synthetics”, as the science had become known, and as a direct consequence of this she felt not so much “out of her depth” as “on the point of drowning”.
     It’ll be good fun, he’d insisted. Great food, good company, great music and dancing, you’ll love it! What he hadn’t mentioned, she’d realised halfway through dinner, was that although the company might be vaguely good-looking, and actively and interestingly chatty, they’d also be fundraising. And that was the key to her current and rapidly increasing boredom. Because she’d managed to lose Uuvern in the crowds, and now everyone assumed she was a potential sponsor, and wouldn’t. Leave her. Alone. She was tired of the forced smiles and gritted-teeth apologies. The minute I find you, Ginger, I will strangle you, I SWEAR.
     The bathroom was a crowded sanctuary, full of like-minded females tired of trying to make smalltalk with one-track males who always, always steered the conversation back to stilted, uninteresting subjects. No matter what you started talking about, you’d always end up talking about Synthetics, and Eri had been forced to run to the bathroom not because she’d drunk too much but to keep herself from screaming her frustration at some poor mad scientist with frizzy hair.
     The bathroom was crowded, though – filled to capacity with too many bodies, applying makeup, chatting, some even actually visiting the lavatory! – and eventually Eri decided she’d just have to brave the outside again (that, or find a better hiding place). Perhaps she’d actually be able to find Uuvern, anyway – and give him a “damn good talking to”, as her mother always said.
     She was sweeping back from the bathroom and towards the main hall where the dancing was in full swing when she spotted The Stranger, standing a clear foot or so taller than the crowds near him, holding court over a cluster of admiring women.
     Kiravai. The mere thought of the word sent an immediate chill up her spine. The imperious aliens rarely set foot outside their claimed territory unless it was to take something they wanted, and certainly didn’t willingly mingle with the “dirty, scruffy little animal-creatures” that formed the basis of the Coalition.
     And yet… for a Kiravai, he was… different. No, that was a bad description, he wasn’t just different, he was a complete free radical – he wore a smart suit and was the typical gargantuan beanpole when it came to his height, but that was about as far as the similarity stretched. To start with, his skin was green – a pale greyed jade, pleasantly soft and rather understated, but still green. Either he’d had that extortionately expensive cosmetic therapy she’d heard his people were famous for (but still, why pick green?) or it was a birth defect, but if it was he didn’t look ashamed of it, far from it. Even his feathers–… no, scratch that, he had hair, and that was green as well, hanging in fashionably shaggy dark moss-coloured curtains over his eyes. His suit was one of those ridiculously expensive ones, the sort only the mega-rich could afford, and yet the shirt below it was unusually closely cut, showing off his powerful build when he moved. And even that was unusual – most Kiravai seemed to see muscles as vulgar, and yet he seemed almost to revel in looking powerful.
     There was a trio of giggling females clustering around him, and from what she could overhear he seemed intent on discussing everything except Synthetics… She found her curiosity unexpectedly piqued. Just who was he? The partners of the trio of ladies drifted closer and whisked them away, looking somewhat leery of the Stranger, who gave an exaggerated bow and wave and triggered another excited, swooning wave of giggles from the girls, and Eri was about to take her chance-
     Far bolder than Eri would ever be, a skinny little albino Nyen (looking obscurely out of place at such an up-market party) sauntered over to him; Eri sighed, inwardly, and prepared herself for a disappointingly quick exit on the cob’s part. The little hind asked something that Eri didn’t catch, cocked her head and let her blue ringlets fall seductively over one pink eye, then brushed her fingers tenderly (and unashamedly sexually) over his stomach, his waistband, lingering over his groin before pretending nothing had happened.
     Unlike most cobs, who’d have run a mile at the outrageous uninvited intrusion into his personal space, he smiled, leaned down closer to her, and whispered something into her ear… The hind actually blushed, then feigned an expression of disgusted outrage (but her tail still crept firmly around his thigh and flickered like a serpent’s tongue between his legs). It made her curious to know exactly what he’d murmured into her ear to get her to colour up like that, and the idea of some kind of exciting, libellous rumour coming from a stuffy, prudish Kiravai only served to intensify it.
     “Daani? Eria’dane!” a familiar voice called, attracting her attention.
     “Uuvern-…?” she turned, and sure enough there was a patch of smartly-dressed bronze scuttling over to her. Her relief at finally finding her consort turned rapidly into temper. “Goddess be damned, Vern, where in all Alo’s holy names did you piss off to?!”
     “Hey, hey, they asked me to give a presentation, remember?” Defensively, he spread his hands as best he could without slopping his half-glass of wine. “A presentation on neuronal biomimicry, the one I’ve been practising all week? Remember?”
     To her great shame, she did at last remember. She also remembered she was supposed to have gone to lend him some moral support, and all the pestering idiots after her money had put it completely out of her mind. “Oh, damn-…” she covered her face with her hands. “Vern, I’m sorry, I completely-”
     He smiled, and took her hand. “Oh, no harm done. Once I got into the swing of things, it all came pretty naturally. Come on, I’ll treat you to a drink.”
     “Wait, wait, Vern-” she hung back for a moment. “Who’s that Kiravai here at the moment?”
     “Which one?” Uuvern drained his glass. “I know three or four…”
     “Er… well, he’s a… kind of greenish colour-”
     Uuvern grinned. “Eri, if you’re going to try and wind me up with smalltalk, at least get your facts straight. You don’t get green Kiravai.”
     “No, I’m being serious! Look over-…” she turned to point, but her words petered out; he’d vanished. “…all right,” she sighed. “Never mind. I… must’ve been mistaken. Trick of the light, or something. What was that about a drink?...”


     Eri spent a large portion of the next hour or two vainly searching the crowds for the strange cob, if only to point him out to Uuvern (and claim her points for the “told you so”.) It was frustrating – Kiravai shouldn’t be so hard to spot! They towered over almost every other species here, even the giant Xniki, and the only one she could actually see was Aila, the dainty little golden pen that Uuvern had already introduced her to. (Who also didn’t know of any green Kiravai, and she’d sensed Aila and Uuvern snickering quietly behind their hands at the way she’d hung onto the idea in spite of the weight of evidence against her.)
     She’d pretty much given up hope of ever finding him again – and was about ready to put it down actually being a trick of the light, or too much alcohol – when quite by chance she almost bodily walked into him. She’d drifted to the tall patio doors, open to the chilly paved balcony and overlooking the silent, darkened garden, to catch a breath of fresh air, only to find someone already out there. Her first reflex had been to curse silently, not wanting to be drawn into another silly discussion and more suggestions that she donate money, but then the incongruities had come together.
     She edged out in to the clear, cold night-time air, not sue what to say now she’d caught the strange cob alone, noting he had his jacket slung over the back of the nearest chair and his shirt sleeves rolled back, lounging artfully against the chilly wall around the edge of the balcony. That in itself was odd – those Kiravai she’d known (not that she could confess to knowing many, they usually kept themselves to themselves) were very prim-and-proper, upstanding creatures, and certainly not prone to slouching.
     Most surprising of all, though, actually bringing her up short, he was smoking – the glitter of red heat from the tip of his cigarette a tiny ember in the moonlight. So few people smoked these days – you were severely restricted in what medical treatment you could get, if you did, and Kiravai were supposedly so delicate when it came to their lungs that they shied away from any smoke – it was with genuine shock that she watched him drag on the tiny tube of rolled dried herbs.
     “The health police haven’t got to you yet, then,” she observed, pleasantly, resting her elbows on the wall beside him and ensuring she was upwind of him.
     He smiled, but didn’t look over to her. “They’ve tried,” he observed, and his voice – and his pitch-perfect Commonspeech – was a pleasant ripple of honeyed velvet. “I… re-educated them.”
     “I’m sure they were only worried about your health.” It was difficult not to sound too preachy. “Or don’t Kiravai get lung cancer, emphysema…?”
     He made a face, and drew softly on the cigarette. “I'd probably worry if it affected me,” he offered, flicking ash into the breeze. “But it never has. Not the psychoactive agents, not the carcinogens, none of it. Might as well be drinking a cup of water.”
     “Well if it doesn’t affect you,” she wondered aloud, confused, “why do you do it?”
     He grinned, sleepily, looking insufferably pleased with himself, and skeins of moon-bleached mist trailed from his nostrils. “Because they told me not to? Because I can? Because it annoys people like you?” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I can’t confess to ever having a reason to do it. I just wanted to. Gets people talking.”
     “You like having people talking about you?”
     “Who doesn’t?” He glanced her way, and briefly appraised what he saw; dusky-faced pale brown Vulline, snowy underside and chocolate-dipped arms and legs, hands sprinkled with white spots. Quite pleasantly pale, getting close to the Imperial subtype – that is, for a Kiravai she would be, and he might have been a long way from home but he remembered his roots. Far more appealing than the cinnamon and charcoal that seemed the norm here, any way.
     “I’d rather people talked about me for a more noble reason-”
     He laughed out loud. “You make a fair point,” he accepted. “But no publicity is bad publicity, is that not also correct?”
     “But nobody knows you-!” His stubborn-ness was less overt than the prickly hostility of a more traditional cob, but she sensed she wasn’t going to make any headway, and she had more burning questions anyway. “If you don’t mind my asking… What exactly was it you said to that Nyen earlier? I’ve never seen anyone get a hind to colour up that way before.”
     Bright pale-gold eyes slid her way and a smile trickled over his pale countenance. “She asked me if I was gay, because I had no beloved hanging off my arm,” he replied, glibly. “I told her I wasn’t – unless, of course, someone catches my eye the right way, and then I’m anyone’s…”
     “Oh, come off it. That wouldn’t get a hind to colour up like that…”
     “Believe what you like, m’chi,” his smile sparkled. “Maybe I made a suggestion of what I’d like to do with her, some silk scarves, my innate skill with knots, and a very large jar of honey.”
     Even that didn’t sound dirty enough to get a hind to blush, but she’d already resigned herself to not getting the truth out of him, and the concept was certainly making her colour up in shock.
     His smile turned very slightly lascivious. “The idea appeals to you, friend? You’ve gone rather… ‘pink’.”
     She’d not realised her blush was so visible, and patted her face with her cool fingers. “Nothing of the sort,” she was quick to argue. “I think it’s quite unpleasant.”
     He grinned, pleased with himself. “So what brings you to this den of thieves, anyway?” he asked, at last, exhaling a soft wreath. “Can’t be for the sterling company. Can’t be for the conversation either, unless you like being pumped for money everywhere you turn.”
     She made a wry look, and tried not to pull a face at the smoke; out of the corner of her eye she spotted him smiling. “Friend of a friend,” she replied. “A colleague of mine works for the cybernetics department at the University. Most of what he does goes right over my head; I’m a horticulturist, myself.”
     “Oh really? Little flower girl,” his brows had lifted. “So he brought you along to look pretty on his arm while he regaled the powers that be with his impressive knowledge, and tried to gather a few more lucrative sponsors into his department?”
     She made it obvious this time when she pulled a face. “Basically that’s the gist of it,” she agreed. “I got bored with the conversation. Too much technology, not enough speculation. I can understand speculation, but joint-torque and processor space and NM-networks go right over my head.”
     “All right then,” he suggested, pleasantly. “We shall speculate. What’s your opinion on these so-called sapient machines?” he stubbed the remnants of his cigarette out against the wall and flicked the spent stub into the grass below. “Good thing, or bad thing?”
     “My opinion is entirely dictated by what little Uuvern has managed to teach me and what I’ve gleaned off the television,” she replied, glumly. “So I think I’m being overoptimistic. You know, head full of silly ideas. I’ve always thought it’ll be a good thing…” she studied the stone beneath her fingers for a few moments, before glancing sideways to see if he was trying to catch her out, but he was gazing down the garden. “…but then I never really went in for all these silly machines take over the world apocalyptic stories the press try to sell us, anyway, so I’m probably biased.”
     He smiled that knowing, sleepy smile, and moonlight glittered in his pale gold eyes. “I’m sure I could disillusion you,” he commented, and gave a soft, enigmatic little laugh. “So. Why do you think this, m’chi? It would seem to me to be a very distinct possibility. The very nature of the universe itself is usually that the more powerful beings subjugate and oppress the weaker ones.”
     “Well… Miss Bluefrost has never expressed a desire to make biological beings redundant-…” Now she’d been forced into explaining her arguments, it seemed unusually difficult to articulate herself. “I guess… it seems… a pointless exercise. A waste in energy. What would the mechanical entities do if they did wipe us all out? Sit there?”
     “Perhaps,” he mused, resting his chin on a slim hand with well-manicured fingernails. “It could be argued that machine-based life is a… pinnacle of evolution, if you like. Perfection. Close to godliness. Unaffected by age or illness, unchanging, and powerfully intelligent to boot. A master race. I’m sure that could be seen as threatening, by a lot of people.”
     “That doesn’t seem to explain why they’d forcefully take over the cosmos.”
     He laced his fingers and straightened, and gave her an unusually probing look; his eyes had lost their sleepy quality and were now as keen as lasers, and she felt… unnerved. “If animals are scared, they fight,” he explained, deadly serious. “It is true of all biological life, even Kiravai, that fear will drive a being to lengths they may not normally go. Sentient beings wipe out other sentient beings because they see them as a threat. Now, extend that concept to sentient machines, and the terrible, irrational fear that most biological creatures have towards them.”
     “That still doesn’t explain-”
     “Animals often fight their masters,” he directed his gaze back down the moonlit garden. “And sometimes, the kindest and most energy-effective solution is to kill the worst troublemakers,” his voice became softer, sleepier. “The less troublesome will be cowed by the show of strength, and fall into line, and order will be restored.”
     For a moment or two, she just stared at him, silently. “…you believe that?” she asked, softly.
     He spread his hands, lazily. “Oh, I believe a lot of things, not all of which I put into words. I also say a lot of things, not all of which I believe,” his lips quirked into a grin. “I also believe that an individual should try to consider all the facts before making a judgement based on what popular entertainment has taught them.”
     She rolled her eyes. “You’re a professor, aren’t you?” It made sense – the deliberate disregard for convention, the outlandish clothing (well, for his species). “Here’s me acting like an idiot with my stupid ideas… What’s your speciality – history, sociology, what?”
     “I have a lot of specialities,” he answered, evasively, and that lascivious glint was back in his eye. “Perhaps we should at least exchange names, m’chi. I am Iios,” he offered a hand. “Or Malachite works just as well, if you can’t get your vocal cords around the Ve-hei’ya.”
     “Eria’dane Dawnstep – or just Eri, if you don’t like long words,” she accepted the proffered hand, expecting him to give it a shake, but instead he scooped it towards his face and brushed his thin lips over the back. “Um… pleased to, um… pleased to meet you, Iios…”
     There was that wicked twinkle in his eye, and she sensed he was insufferably pleased at catching her off-guard like that; he was steadily looking more and more like the sort of male you did not take home to meet the parents. A charming, exciting, devilishly inappropriate rogue, the sort to make lewd jokes at polite dinner parties or show up in a dress purely to shock, leading a rock-star life with all its accompanying excesses, who’d lead you into temptation and get you into all kinds of things your parents disapproved of.
     “Now,” he touched his fingers to his chest and bowed. “If you would care to excuse me, I have people to see.”
     And before she could find enough of a voice to argue, he slipped back in through the doors, and vanished.

On to chapter two