Chapter 2

That made sense, Thompson thought. Her Ladyship had to know that a Marine who realized @'d been coerced into a decision, even gently, would rebel against both the decision and the coercer. "Then I'd say they won't go beyond persuasion and the temptation her Ladyship promised--or threatened me with."

King nodded, her expression troubled. "There's another aspect, Cap, one you may not be thinking about. At least it's something I've never known you to be concerned with--but these tapes make it pretty clear that feeding is . . . well--"

"That's enough," Thompson interrupted shortly. He'd been trying to avoid thinking about that aspect; what had made Audra bring it up? It was a personal problem, a reason as important as what he'd spoken openly about for his reluctance to donate--the reason he had opted out of his original assignment selection when he'd found out what it involved. The idea of casual liaisons left him cold; the only people he felt close enough to want intimacy with were the members of his team--and regulations forbade that. So although he certainly didn't lack it, he'd never shown any outward interest in sex.

"No offense intended, Cap. Sorry."

"None taken, Audra; you just pushed the wrong button." Thompson took a deep breath. "And you haven't mentioned one factor that's damned hard for me to resist." He couldn't help thinking about the detective chief he'd seen on holo. "Some of these Kins, at least, aren't much more than skin and bones. I could provide a meal for one of them, yes--and I would, gladly, if it wouldn't change me into one of them. Hell, if I could, I'd feed 'em as often as my body would tolerate the blood loss!"

* * * * *

The Count didn't waste any time acting on her intention; she had Thompson summoned to the Palace communications section, where she called HQMC and requested the E-Team's indefinite assignment to Narvon System. Thompson filed his protest immediately, but it had no more effect than he'd expected; he and his team were assigned to the Count's command.

She turned to him when the tech broke contact. "I don't think you will find my first commands too unpleasant, Captain. I would like you and your people to consider yourselves my guests; you are welcome to full use of all Palace facilities. I would also like you to attend a get-acquainted party tomorrow night."

Thompson had resigned himself to spending at least several weeks in this system; he found himself grateful that the Count was making it as pleasant as possible for them. "Thank you, my Lady. We'll be there; should we wear blues or civvies?"

"Whichever you choose, Captain. It will be semi-formal."

* * * * *

Thompson wore blues, more for the illusory protection of the dress uniform's high collar than for any other reason; the rest of his team opted for civilian wear. He thought King looked particularly sharp in the shimmer-cloth culotte outfit she'd had the fabricator make, and almost as soon as their group entered the Grand Ballroom he saw that he wasn't the only one. Several Kins, ranging from almost normal physique to near-starvation gauntness, surrounded her and began an animated conversation. Others started discussions with the rest of his team, leaving Thompson himself momentarily alone.

That didn't last long, however. The Count joined him, accompanied by half a dozen other Kins who she introduced as her Planetary Barons, her Chief of System Security, and the Head Nurse of the Palace medcenter. "And you've already seen Detective Chief Enna Kaufman," the Count finished.

Thompson acknowledged the introductions with a certain amount of discomfort. He wasn't used to associating with the nobility, and it was unsettling for him to feel the restrained hunger they all radiated. The two Security people were in the worst shape, and a moment's thought told Thompson it made sense; their jobs were unlikely to bring them into much contact with people willing to let them feed.

As they chatted about inconsequentials, Thompson had to keep himself from staring at the Kins' mouths, or getting within touching range. The Count had read him all too accurately; while one Kin was relatively easy to resist, seven--two of whom were near starvation--made it an entirely different case, even though they weren't doing anything but stand there and converse. He was far too aware not only of their hunger, but of his urge to satisfy it. How the hell was he going to resist this kind of pressure even for however long the party lasted, much less for weeks or maybe months? He sipped at a drink he'd taken from a passing waiter's tray, wishing for some excuse to leave, but he couldn't think of any. He couldn't even fall back on the Corps' informal motto, because there was no dishonor involved.

"At least your teammates aren't refusing to enjoy what we can do for them," Kaufman said, gesturing as she chuckled.

Thompson turned, to see Sergeant Gottfried--his communications expert--in the arms of a tall, equally Nordic-looking man, her expression almost ecstatic as the Kin's mouth worked at her throat. Nearby he saw Audra, pale but looking pleased, with a petite Polynesian-looking Kin being obviously solicitous of her. Thompson shook his head ruefully, then turned back to his group. "It looks like you have a few more donors, at least as long as we're assigned here." He hesitated, trying to decide whether he should go on, but the Count made that decision for him.

"Go on, Captain. I can see you have more to say."

"Yes, sir." Thompson took a breath, then did so. "As I told Sergeant King, I'd donate myself, as often as I could, except that I'm told that if I do it even once, I'll become a Kin. And that would cost me my career, something I'm not willing to give up."

"More to the point," the Count said, "you think it would cost you your team."

Dammit, Thompson thought, couldn't she give him any slack? "The only way it wouldn't, my Lady, is if you got the Emperor to assign them here permanently--which would ruin their careers. I say again, my responsibilities to my team outweigh my personal desires."

He hadn't kept his distance carefully enough; Kaufman touched his shoulder, then his throat, and he shivered with the promise of it. "Captain," she said softly, "would it really be that bad, staying in this system? The human race, after all, was restricted to one planet for millions of years, and most people still remain planetbound for their entire lives. Believe me, Narvon System can provide enough challenge for you and your team. Have you asked them whether they would consider staying here with you?"

"No, I haven't," Thompson admitted. But he had to add, "I wouldn't, either, because I'm afraid they'd think I was pressuring them."

Kaufman eased her hand to the other side of his neck, and Thompson moved closer without quite realizing it. "Look at them, my friend. They're feeling good, and I can assure you that anyone who's donated to one of us once wants to do it again." She chuckled. "The kind of pleasure we can give is unique, and you want the best possible for your people; wouldn't you like to give them feeding-pleasure yourself, as often as you could do it without endangering their health?"

That gave Thompson an entirely different point of view, and he moved still closer to the Kin, again without realizing it. "Yes . . . yes, I would." He did want the best for his people, and if he could get that in a way that also let him be even closer to them--

He felt lips at his throat, hard sharpness under their warmth, and knew he'd surrendered.

Then a large hand closed on his shoulder and he was pulled away, to stumble back against Corporal Nkomo's chest. "What--"

"No marks, sir; you're safe."

Thompson took a deep breath, coming back to reality as his team surrounded him. It seemed he'd been right when he told Audra he might need protection from himself. "Thanks, Corporal. And the rest of you."

"No problem, sir. Sergeant King said this might happen."

The Count smiled ruefully. "You have a very well trained team, Captain Thompson--but they cannot be around you all the time. Sooner or later, you will give in to your own desire."

He'd already come too close for comfort, Thompson thought bitterly. The worst part of it was that it was himself he was fighting, not the Count--and whichever way the fight went, he lost. "That may be, my Lady, but they're here now. And they'll keep me from doing anything I'd regret later."

"Indeed," the Count said politely. "Then you will stay and enjoy the rest of the party."

That was an order, Thompson knew, not a request. "As my Lady Count wishes," he said, trying to conceal resentment from the others, if not from the Count herself.

"Good." The Count signalled a waiter, who approached carrying a tray loaded with foam-topped mugs. "Your records say you have a fondness for New Bavarian beer, something I doubt you can find very often. I can recommend this; it is their Oktoberfest Doppelbock, a brew I enjoyed myself before becoming a Kin."

Thompson didn't doubt that; it was a brew he'd heard quite a lot about, though he'd never been able to afford any. He reached for a mug, shaking his head when Nkomo tried to restrain him. "It's okay, Corporal. I'm in danger of becoming a Kin, not being poisoned. But if it'd make you feel better, you can taste it before I have any."

"I'll do that, sir." Nkomo took a deep drink, then handed the mug to Thompson, shaking his head. "Whoo! That's beer?"

"It certainly is," the Count said with obvious amusement. "Rather potent beer, I might add, though it is also quite smooth. Feel free to drink all you wish; my medcenter has considerable experience treating hangovers."

With that, the group of Kins broke up and began circulating. Thompson took a hearty drink from the mug he held, while the rest of the team took advantage of the Count's offer, accepting mugs of their own from the waiter. Not at all to his surprise, he saw that all of them had fang marks on their throats; when Nkomo lowered his mug, Thompson indicated the marks. "How was it?"

Nkomo rubbed the marks, grinning. "It was great, sir--like nothing I've ever felt before. I'm going to do it again, as often as they'll let me." He gestured resignation. "Not as often as I'd like, but the one who fed on me says they don't take chances on their donors' health; even if I dose with rapid-heal, which I intend to, I'm not allowed to donate more than once every four tendays. What they call a Class Four Donor."

That seemed to be about average, Thompson found. Gottfried was a Class Three, King a Class One, and all the rest were Fours like Nkomo. Also like Nkomo, all of them intended to repeat the experience as often as they were allowed to. "And if you do become a Kin," King told him, "we want you to be the one who feeds from us. Mine said that it's good with any Kin, but best with someone you know and like or respect. And that a custom is developing for a Kin who leads a regular group of Donors to be responsible for taking care of them that way."

Thompson raised an eyebrow. "The Kin is responsible for feeding on @'s people?"

"Yes, sir. If you'd Donated, you wouldn't be questioning it, either."

"Maybe not," Thompson conceded. It did seem to make an odd sort of sense . . . but he didn't care to find out. "That's academic for the moment, though, so let's do what her Ladyship said, and enjoy the party."

* * * * *

The next morning, Thompson woke feeling hungry. That was something that almost never happened, especially when he'd been drinking the night before; breakfast, for him, was seldom more than a cup of coffee and maybe an English muffin. Well, he knew where the guest dining room was, he told himself, and it was likely that Audra would be eating there; the rest were more likely to eat with the System Security troops in their chow hall.

She wasn't there, so Thompson took a small table and began scanning the menu as soon as he'd punched for coffee. That was delivered by a human waiter, not too surprising in a System Palace dining room, and Thompson was giving his order when King walked in. She looked surprised, but joined him at his gesture and ordered her usual Spanish omelet, toast, and coffee. It wouldn't be quite like the same items on any other world, but it was always how she started the day.

When their food came and Thompson cleaned his plate, then signalled for a second helping while she was barely halfway through, King gave her commanding officer a quizzical look. "Is everything all right, Cap?"

"Fine, as far as I know," Thompson said. "I'm just hungry."

"Hungry enough to eat two breakfasts when you normally don't eat any." King frowned. "Cap--did Carlo pull you away before that detective chief got her fangs into you?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because some of the tapes I dug out--not the ones her Ladyship left for me--say that some susceptibles get hungrier than usual after they've become infected. But if she didn't bite you, you can't be infected."

Thompson set down the coffee cup he'd just picked up, an unpleasant thought forming. "I . . . don't know about that," he said slowly. "I may have a nasty mind, but I can't forget that our gracious hostess used to be a field agent."

"And field agents don't exactly have the same standards as the rest of the Imperial services." King hesitated. "Cap, you don't think she'd--"

"That's exactly what I do think." The Count couldn't force him, no, but a field agent would feel perfectly justified in tricking him, if the stakes were high enough. "I'm not sure whether it was her primary plan or a backup, but thinking back, she could very well have laced that beer with virus. With you not susceptible and the rest of her guests being Kins already, I'm the only one it would have any effect on."

King chuckled. "That makes sense, Cap--but if so, it backfired on her. According to the tapes, the ones who get the hungries may become high-class Donors when they're weakened for the Change, but they don't become Kins."

"Oh, yeah?" Thompson grinned in relief. "I can handle that easily enough, especially since it means the team doesn't have to break up. I think I'll ask to see her as soon as we finish eating."

* * * * *

The Count sent word that she'd see him as soon as her morning formal audience was over, so Thompson was waiting in her working office when she came in just before noon. He rose and, since he was in civilian clothes this time, bowed slightly. "Good morning, my Lady."

"Good morning, Captain. You look pleased with yourself." The Count motioned him back to his seat, while she leaned against her desk. "What is it?"

Thompson outlined what he and King had discussed, feeling more relaxed in her presence than he'd have thought possible the previous night. "So if what Sergeant King read is accurate," he finished, "I can let one of you feed, enjoy it, and still stay with my team."

"It is accurate enough," the Count said, her expression unreadable to anyone without a field agent's training. "Perhaps a tenth of those who are susceptible do not Change into Kins. They do become the best Donors available, though no Kin will risk feeding even from them more than once per tenday." She sighed. "I cannot share your relief, Captain, though I can understand it. I am fully aware of the way most people out-system will react to us, and being from out-system yourself, you would have gotten a far more sympathetic reaction than a Narvonese-born Kin. Your being a Donor will help, even so. Do you have any preference as to the Kin?"

"One of the really hungry ones," Thompson said. "Otherwise, not particularly."

"Very well. You seemed quite taken with Chief Kaufman yesterday; she is Night Duty Officer now, so she is sleeping, but will be in her office about twenty-two-thirty tonight. Shall I leave word that you are coming?"

"I felt sorry for her, was all," Thompson said. "The poor kid--Yes, please let her know."

"All you felt consciously, perhaps," the Count said drily. "I read it as potentially far more--but that no longer matters. I will rescind my request for your indefinite assignment here."

"Thank you, my Lady." Thompson rose, and this time his bow was everything her rank entitled her to.

* * * * *

Thompson entered the System Security office complex and approached the desk sergeant, ready to introduce himself, but she stood. "Captain Thompson?"

"Yes."

"Chief Kaufman is waiting for you, sir. To your right, third door on the left." She smiled. "You made a good choice, Captain. She's the best I've ever Donated to."

"How did you know I chose her, rather than the other way around?"

"It's always the Donor's choice, sir. The Kin can ask someone, or pass on a volunteer, but one will never feed on an unwilling Donor." The desk sergeant grinned. "Besides, her Ladyship said you had."

Thompson chuckled. "Thanks, Sergeant. Third on my left, you said." He went to the door she'd described, still amused. Now that the danger of becoming one himself was past, he discovered he was beginning to like these blood-drinkers, and to hope the Count would find a good, sympathetic Liaison Officer.

He didn't have to knock; the door opened as he neared it, and Kaufman invited him in with a flourish. "Nice to see you again, Captain," she said, smiling--and this time Thompson let himself respond to her hunger and her gleaming fangs. He went into her open arms, leaning his head to one side.

She brushed his throat with her lips, and he felt amusement mixed with her hunger. "May I assume that your Corporal Nkomo won't pull you away from me this time, my dear Captain?" she murmured.

"You may, my dear Chief." Thompson relaxed completely, feeling the assurance she projected. "This may be my only chance, so drink as much as you want."

"As much as I'd take for a Change, yes. You'll go into a deep sleep, and wake up hungry enough to eat a hellbeast."

"That's what my socio spec told me." Thompson's earlier desire was back in full force, stronger than ever; he licked his lips, wishing she'd get on with it.

Warmth on his throat, the sensation of hunger, hard sharpness-- He cried out at the sudden intense pleasure of fangs in his throat, his blood filling the Kin's eager mouth, satisfying her driving hunger . . .

* * * * *

He woke with that memory, his hand going to his throat and caressing the wounds there. It was comfortable lying in bed--he knew, somehow, that he was back in the apartment he'd been assigned--and he'd like to stay there, holding on to the memory of Kaufman's feeding, but he was much too hungry. He got up and used the 'fresher, then dressed, intending to go to the dining room.

It wasn't necessary; a covered serving tray sat on the coffee table in his apartment's living room, with a note beside it. He uncovered the tray and began eating, curious about the note but not willing to interrupt until he'd taken the edge off his appetite. Whoever had prepared the tray, he thought gratefully, had a pretty good idea what one of the "near-misses" like himself needed; by the time he emptied it, he was satisfied.

He picked up the note and leaned back, chuckling as he read it.

"Dear Jase,

"By the time you get to this, you'll have eaten and I'll be asleep. I want you to know: you were delicious, and I have never had a better meal. I hope I was able to give you as much pleasure as you gave me, and if you are going to be here long enough, I'd appreciate the opportunity to feed from you again.

"Affectionately, "Enna"

It was odd thinking of himself as a delicious meal, but Thompson found it tickled him; sure, he'd feed her again if he and his team were here long enough. In the meantime, until he got orders, he and his team were on leave, and as he'd told Audra, they might as well take advantage of their stay in a System Palace.

For the rest of the day, they did just that. Their status as the Count's guests let them enjoy the prerogatives only local nobility or above usually got, and they took advantage of it in the ways their various interests dictated. For Thompson, that meant a run through the Count's target range, a hearty lunch, a trip through the planetary zoo--he'd need a week to do justice to the whole thing, but this was a good start--a four-course supper, and an evening at the local classics theater to see Last Starfighter for perhaps the twentieth time.

He went to bed feeling comfortably tired, and for several hours slept well, if with increasing unease, but about 0200 he woke and couldn't get back to sleep. His throat itched, and he felt restless, bloated, so irritable he had to get up and move around. For awhile he prowled around his apartment, but that didn't help for long; eventually, he put on a robe and went out.

He prowled the Palace corridors, rubbing the fang marks on his throat from time to time, his unease and restless irritability growing. He didn't like being this way--it was nothing like his usual self--but he couldn't seem to do fight his way out of it.

After what felt like decades, he found himself at the System Security office complex. Something inside him seemed to say "That's it," so he went inside.

The desk sergeant--the same one who had been there the day before--looked at him in surprise. "Is there something I can do for you, Captain?"

"I . . . I don't know." Thompson rubbed at the fang marks, frustrated that it didn't seem to help, then began scratching at them. "Is Chief Kaufman here?"

"No, sir, she's patrolling. You can wait here till she gets back, if you want to. Uh . . . you shouldn't be doing that."

"Doing what?" Thompson snapped.

"Scratching yourself like that. You could . . . well, hurt yourself."

"Dammit, they itch!" The reminder made it worse; Thompson's scratching went deeper, beginning to draw blood. That helped a little, so he dug in more.

"Sir, don't!"

Thompson paid no attention, needing that bit of relief, small as it was, even when the desk sergeant hit the station alarm. Half a decade troopers seemed to materialize around him, and he heard the sergeant order him restrained.

When they grabbed him and tried to force his arms down behind his back, though, he started fighting. IntelDiv had some nasty moves picked up from combat techniques developed by a couple of decade cultures; he'd decked three of his assailants before reinforcements arrived and took him down, handcuffing him and confining him to a padded holding cell.

An indeterminate, almost painfully frustrating amount of time later, he felt some relief and slumped to the padded floor; a Kin was approaching. Whoever it was stopped, perhaps at the desk, then he sensed anxiety, and the Kin started moving again. Not long after, Enna Kaufman was at the door of his cell, opening it and entering. She knelt beside him.

"Jase, what's wrong?"

Her nearness calmed him; Thompson breathed deeply, his tension easing. "I wish to Chaos I knew! I damnsure didn't bargain for anything like this when I wanted you to feed on me."

"Neither did I, or I wouldn't have." She removed the handcuffs, then stroked the wounds on his throat; he relaxed. "I can feel what you want, Jase, but I can't do anything about it; I fed off you last night, so you have another nine days before any Kin will touch you again."

"I . . . don't think I'll last another nine hours, much less nine days. Chaos, Enna, what do I have to do?"

"I don't know. Prince knows, I'd help you if I could!"

* * * * *