Agent in Distress Ch. 01

Moments later, Lana found herself walking out into the banquet hall, alone, with a heavy pitcher of wine in hand. The banquet hall was vast, with vaulted ceilings that stretched so high she couldn't see the artwork that adorned them without craning her neck. Lana kept her focus on the table, which was wide and low, such that the men were all sitting on cushions on the floor. She spied Lamare, and two other men she didn't recognize. Warrick was not there, and she wondered why. Lamare and the other two men were dressed in colorful matching uniforms with sashes of inlaid gold and blue, decorated with a lion-like creature. Opposite sat three more men in dark maroon uniforms, with their weapons placed neatly beside them on the floor. The men were speaking with their backs to her as Lana found a cushion to sit on set back twenty feet from the table. Once she was seated, she noticed one of the large guards by the main doorway behind and out of view of the guests was watching her . . . it was Warrick, disguised as a guard! He made the most slight of nods toward her, and she let out a whiff of a smile, looking away and down. With his helmet and armor, she'd almost not recognized him, but the eyes were unmistakable.

"My master has no designs on your fine nation, Master Lamare," said the man in the middle. "We simply wish to secure our borders. We believe in peace through strength and vigilance. Surely you can understand that, seeing as your nation was founded by overthrowing the yoke of an occupying force."

Lana let her mind open, taking in the man's words first, then the images and thoughts that flowed behind them. It was a skill that took years to master, and she had a lot to learn. A Telepath was flooded with garbled senseless images, and it took great skill and experience to filter them into meaningful information.

"I see you have studied our history," said Lamare, his voice formal and stilted. "Then you understand our trepidation over your steady buildup of forces along our border."

"We absolutely understand your concern," replied the foreign diplomat. "Thus I am here to assure you that our intentions are strictly defensive in nature."

Lana wasn't hearing the words anymore, so focused was she on the mind behind the words. As she had expected, the mind of a diplomat was complicated and difficult to read. To a casual telepathic read, a skilled diplomat often seemed completely sincere, for they dealt so regularly in half-truths and exaggerations, that they believed their own words. And in her world, the existence of telepaths meant that diplomats trained extensively to fool a telepath. Yet this man clearly had no fear of telepaths, and no training in fooling them. As he continued speaking, Lana gained a clear picture of the thoughts behind the words.

"Girl, what are you waiting for?" One of the men on Lamare's side of the table was glaring at her, holding his goblet in the air.

"I'm sorry . . . Master," said Lana, remembering to add 'master' as she scrambled to her feet, nearly tipping the full pitcher of wine. She quickly moved around the table and knelt at his side, leaning over to fill his goblet. She was now visible to the three visiting diplomats, and she caught the eye of the man in the middle. His eyes lingered on her until Lamare spoke.

"We hear reports of your armies training in, shall we say, rather offensive maneuvers?" continued Lamare, his tone conversational rather than accusing. Lana returned to her cushion, her tasked finished, and knelt down, looking at the diplomat, and making eye contact to her surprise. She quickly looked away, but she sensed he was watching her now that he'd noticed her. Lana refocused her mind on the foreign diplomat, and was flooded with images of herself as he saw her. It was a normal occurrence when the subject was looking at the Telepath, but this man's imagery was entirely sexual in nature, his interest clear. Then she saw him raise his hand, gesturing for her.

"Girl, come fill your host's goblet," he ordered, pointing across the table toward the man to the left of Lamare. Lana quickly got to her feet and padded over to kneel next to Lamare's aide, holding out the pitcher with two hands to pour.

"Where did you find such a magnificent creature?" said the man in maroon formal dress. It took a moment for Lana to realize he was speaking about her. She glanced up to see his intense blue eyes were looking her over as she finished pouring the wine.

Lamare answered him. "This one is from a land called Calambria. She is rare indeed, for it is a distant land, and their warriors are quite deadly."

The diplomat chuckled. "Indeed, I have heard of this place. Their females make the most coveted of pleasure slaves, it is said. Are they all so well formed?"

It took a moment for Lana to realize what he'd meant, then she blushed, for she'd given him a full view when she'd leaned over to fill the goblet.

"Yes, they tend to have shapely hips and busty chests, but this one is taller and larger than most," said Lamare, making Lana bristle in resentment. All her training had given her layers of toned muscle; she just wasn't a slender stick like many of the women she saw on Dellune. "Come girl, fill my goblet as well. Let us give our guests a better view." Several men chuckled at his joke.

Lana's face felt hot, for she must have been bright red. As she stood to move to Lamare's side, she froze as he lashed a command at her.

"How do you address your master, girl?" he spat, his humor replaced with annoyance.

"I'm sorry, Master!" said Lana quickly, rushing to a kneeling position at his side. Something in his commanding tone made her obey, and she was immediately annoyed at herself for letting him order her around. Yet now was not the time to stand up for herself, she needed to remain professional. Lana leaned over to fill his goblet, already forgetting what that meant for the men across the table.

"Magnificent view indeed," said the man across from her. Lana bit her lip to avoid saying anything, and focused on holding the heavy pitcher steady. Her mind conjured images of flying food and goblets, landing in the lap of the man in maroon, but she forced herself to behave. When she was finished pouring, she quickly moved back to her cushion.

"About those maneuvers," said Lamare, trying to guide the topic back on track.

"Entirely ordinary," said the diplomat. "One cannot train an army without training in offensive maneuvers."

Lana stopped listening, instead focusing on the images behind the words, the hidden meaning behind the superficial dialogue. The images from the untrained diplomat came quickly and easily, but what she saw made her eyes widen, and her heart race. She had to tell Warrick! Suddenly she gasped, as she saw an image of herself, being captured, then naked, chained. She looked up to see several eyes at the table looking at her - she must have made a loud noise.

At the center of the table she saw the diplomat in maroon raising his goblet, a cruel grin on his face. "Come kneel next to me, my lovely Calambrian wench," said the man, suggestively. Lana clamped her mind shut to ward off the barrage of unpleasant imagery, vague of details but full of lust . . . mixed with cruelty.


"Go to him, wench," she heard Warrick say from near the doorway. She glanced over to see him glaring at her. His commanding tone gave her a thrill.

"Yes, Master," she said quietly, then stood to move around the table. She went and knelt between two of the men, reaching out to fill the goblet of the head diplomat who'd called her over. Lana ignored his lascivious stares, instead focusing on her task. She was in mid pour when she suddenly made a soft cry, her whole body stiffening. The diplomat's hand was on her inner thigh, softly caressing her bare flesh. Lana's mouth hung open for a long moment.

"Do you neglect your duty, wench?" said Warrick, scornfully, staring at her from behind the three visiting diplomats. He looked so convincing that Lana wasn't sure if he was truly angry.

"No . . . Master!" she blurted, craning her head to look at Warrick, anxious that the man she'd found so attractive and kind earlier might be angry at her. With slightly trembling hands she continued pouring, struggling to ignore the hand on her thigh. But despite her efforts, she couldn't help but squirm a bit from his continued touches.

"She is a sensitive creature," purred the man in maroon, his hand still softly doodling circles on her inner thigh. "Were I to touch her deeply, she'd no doubt shower us with wine. She is a pleasure slave, I assume?"

Lana stiffened visibly, her eyes flashing to the man who'd spoken. The lust emanating from his mind was matched by the look in his eyes, and Lana shivered a bit. She'd never before experienced such unabashed desire from a strange man, and she found it shocking.

"She is a mere serving girl. She has yet to receive her training as a pleasure slave," said Lamare quickly. Lana's head snapped around to look at him. What was he talking about? Her mind reached out to Lamare, but he was nearly as hard to read as Warrick, but in a different way. When she tried to read Warrick, it was as if his mind did not emanate any signals to read. Lamare however, his images were cloudy, as if he were intentionally obscuring his thoughts. Still, she was able to sense a bit of desire, mixed with a bit of . . . hatred was too strong a word, but something about her seemed to garner his ill will.

"May I ask you to send her to my quarters tonight? I would be happy to train her for you," said the diplomat, his hand squeezing Lana's thigh possessively, making her stiffen with resentment.

Lana had about had enough, when she heard Lamare speak.

"You may ask, but I'm afraid the answer is no," said the administrator firmly. There was a long silence, and Lana opened her mind to the diplomat, hoping to enjoy his feeling of disappointment. Instead, what his mind was projecting shocked her to the core.

"Pity," replied the diplomat after a long pause. Lana's satisfaction at his disappointment was short lived, for just then she felt the hand on her thigh move, and then a finger was dragged across the thin covering between her thighs.

"Stop that!" blurted Lana, spilling a drop of wine on the beautiful white linen table covering. The hand left her suddenly, its owner seemingly surprised by her outburst, but he quickly recovered, reaching out to grab his now-full goblet, and tossing its contents against Lana's chest.

"I would teach you some manners, slave!" he spat, glaring at her.

Lana was so shocked she didn't even know how to react, as she looked down at her shift, now dark and wet, and clinging to her torso.

"Forgive me, sir, allow me to discipline the slave." It was Warrick, leaving his post and approaching the table with a speed that surprised and frightened her a bit. "Leave the pitcher, wench!" he commanded.

Lana put the pitcher on the table and stood, her eyes wide as Warrick imposing form was coming rapidly toward her. She yelped when he grabbed her forcefully, then guided her rapidly toward the kitchen door. His grip on her upper arm was strong enough that when they were out of sight inside the kitchen and he let go, she rubbed her arm self-consciously.

"You have my apologies for back there, you are doing very well, Lana," whispered Warrick. Then he leaned down so he was close to her ear. "Tell me quickly, were you able to read his mind?"

Lana felt an enormous relief that his hardness toward her had been all for show. He was gently rubbing her upper arm where he'd grabbed her, and his touch was making Lana feel warm inside. She quickly wiped the unpleasantness of the last few minutes from her mind and tried to remember what she had read from the diplomat.

"He is a bastard, and he is lying," she explained. "They have no intention of honoring what he told you. His mission here is purely to . . . scout you out, gauge your determination."

Warrick looked down at her, his eyebrows raised in what might have been appreciation. "Are you sure? He seemed very convincing." He looked at her sternly. "Lana, you're not just telling me this because he . . . treated you like that?"

Lana frowned. "No, he is a bastard on many levels. He is so used to lying he almost believes it. I gather he has been telling other peoples the same thing, before they conquer them." Then she remembered something she'd seen. "There is something else . . . some . . . advantage he thinks—he knows, they have over you. A weapon perhaps?"

Warrick's previous look of skepticism suddenly changed. "Tell me more," he urged.

"I'm sorry, I don't know more details, just that . . . his leader thinks they can conquer you . . . easily. In fact, he seemed to be looking forward to destroying your armies!" The plasma weapons, she realized. No wonder he was so confident.

Warrick nodded grimly. Then he smiled down at her. "You have done extremely well, Lana. I see no need for you to go back out there, and be subjected to more of their crudeness."

Lana smiled in gratitude. Then she turned serious. "Oh, I almost forgot. He gave me an image . . . of kidnapping . . . I think he was thinking of kidnapping me tonight . . . I don't know . . . I think it was just a thought, not a real plan . . . but he was going to have someone else do it for him . . . an insider, one of your people, or more than one."

Warrick looked down at her with an intense stare that would have been intimidating under other circumstances. He reached up to grip her upper arms tightly, so much so that she winced a bit in pain. He loosened his grip, saying "Lana, are you absolutely sure of this? There can be no mistake."

Lana thought for a second, then nodded. "I am sure. It was clear he thinks he has someone who could do it for him. But I don't think he wants to risk that person's anonymity."

Warrick nodded. "I can't thank you enough, Lana," he said, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "Stay here, Nika will come fetch you to get you cleaned up. I must return to my post." Then he turned and was gone, before she could even say anything.

"You're welcome," she whispered to the empty room. Lana was filled with pride, she'd done very well on her first trial in the field. It was one thing to read minds of volunteers in her training classes, entirely another thing to do it in a real situation, with such high stakes.

"Lana!" she sensed Nika approaching before she saw the girl coming toward her. Nika reached her side and whispered, "How did it go? Oh my lord, what happened to you?"

"I guess he didn't like the wine," she replied, shrugging with a sheepish grin. Nothing could spoil her good mood now after what Warrick had said.

"What were you doing there anyway?" said Nika, curious.

Lana realized that most likely no one had informed her 'assistant' of the purpose of her joining the meeting. She thought it best not to tell her anything about telepathy.

"I was observing the meeting, to see if I could determine if the visitors were lying."

"Oh, I see," said Nika, though clearly she did not. "So were they?"

"Oh yes," said Lana. Then she winked at Nika, "it would be obvious to the men if they weren't so thick headed." The slave girl giggled and nodded, sharing her joke. Then she took Lana's hand.

"Come, mistress, let us get you cleaned up, that color doesn't suit you." Lana couldn't agree more. Serving on Dellune was quite different than waitressing back home, she'd found.

While Lana was off taking another bath, the diplomatic meeting was finishing. Warrick was speaking to Lamare when Max Veers approached them.

"How did she do?" said Max.

"That young woman has a most remarkable ability," said Warrick. "In fact we must see Lord Khan immediately with the news. And I'd like Lana to be there."

"She's getting cleaned up now," said Max. His eyebrows wrinkled. "I won't ask how she ended up covered in wine."

"Best that you don't," said Warrick with a smile. Then he turned serious.

"Max, before I forget, our illustrious administrator here has reminded me of an issue with our guest," he said. His mocking tone drew a foul look from Lamare. "I believe you are aware of our customs regarding female guests of our master, Lord Khan?"

Max thought for a second, and then his eyes went wide.

"Oh dear, of course, I'd forgotten, Master Warrick!" he exclaimed, his hands wringing nervously. "Her GWA attire is entirely . . . . inappropriate."

Warrick smiled and nodded. "It is quite alright, Max. No harm is done, we will provide more appropriate clothing for Lady Torina."

Dellune males naturally preferred to see females scantily clad. In the case of female guests, if the host was sufficiently powerful, the women dressed appropriately. For a female to appear before a king or powerful lord in a full cloak such as the young Arbiter wore, would be deemed deceitful and make the leader uncomfortable. Max realized he'd been trying not to think about the issue, anticipating a fight with the proud young woman. Galactic Arbiters did not like being told what to do, in his experience.

Max was agitated. "Ahh . . . she will refuse to wear anything you might consider inappropriate, Master Lamare. I don't know . . . ."

Warrick laughed. "I can't ask her to wear her wine-soaked serving girl outfit, that is for certain. Are the females of your world unused to showing their bodies? I can't say I'd mind seeing her properly dressed."

Max snorted. "This one already thinks she is properly dressed, sir. I don't think she will be easily persuaded."

Warrick was thoughtful. He leaned down toward Max with a glint in his eye. "Max, in my experience with females, it is better to do, rather than ask. Lamare will simply have the girls snatch her Arbiter clothing and replace it with something . . . suitable."

Max gasped. "Uhhh . . . I don't think that's a good-"

Warrick interrupted, shaking his head and smiling. "She is a guest of Dellune, Max, she is not on her home world. She needs to learn our ways. It is decided. I will perhaps sneak into the bathing chamber, to see the look on Miss Torina's face when she sees her new clothes." Warrick let out another loud chuckle, and Max smiled nervously, still wringing his hands. He resented the young female Arbiter's presence on his turf, and he'd like nothing better than to see her put in her place, but still he was nervous. The girl was just a student, but she represented the Institute, and he'd have to be careful. A severe review from her to the Institute, and he might lose his coveted assignment. The thought of giving up all those slave girls . . .

. . . .

Normally, Lana wouldn't have wanted to bath so soon again, but she was eager to clean the filthy visiting diplomat's touches off her skin. Not to mention all the wine that made her feel sticky all over. Lana stepped into the bath, the warm water feeling wonderful on her sore legs. Sitting, the water came up just over her chest, and she lifted her hair, then leaned her head back and closed her eyes, smiling contentedly. Perhaps this primitive planet wasn't so bad after all.

Lana woke with a start, to the sound of splashing water. But she was alone in the bath. How long had she been asleep? Sensing she had been asleep too long, she quickly stepped out of the water to get the soap, and began to wash herself, using a small pail of water to rinse herself. She dipped her hair in the tub to wet it, and used the lotion the slave girl had provided to wash her hair. The lotion smelled of lavender, but different - a local flower perhaps, but it was a lovely scent. Smelling clean and feeling refreshed, Lana grabbed a towel and wrapped her hair, then put another towel around her body. Humming to herself, she reached for the basket containing her Arbiter uniform and cloak.