Envoy to Earth (36 page)

"I
do
want it. I know
that Father might have some trouble with it. Mother too for that matter, mine,
not yours. Carol probably doesn't know that I'm alive. The honest truth is, if
father can't handle me being who I was always supposed to be, then I'll go it
alone. I have a job now, and it's important. I have to keep it, but I think I
can. Bonita is set to inherit anyway, so all I lose are the secondary
properties. I can do this." She seemed to be pretty certain of that fact,
and Gerent agreed with her.

"After all, even if your
position in Austra ends, you can just move to Harmony. Anyone can make it
there, and you'll have all that experience, both here and over in Austra, by
then. That has to make a person valuable."

That started a different
discussion, though the topic did come back to swapping genders more than once.
It was almost as if Maria was trying to convince herself that it would be all right
for that to happen. That her sister becoming a brother wasn't a bad thing, just
different. Probably because Patty had manipulated her into thinking that. Why
she'd bothered he didn't know, or care to understand at all.

Except that, when he thought about
it, which he really couldn't stop himself from doing, he thought he understood.
It had to do with him again, as self-centered as thinking that felt. She'd
picked up that he was trying to help Misha, and probably why, and chimed in
with her old friend. Because she was his friend too.

That got put out of mind, and
before another hour could pass, he decided that it was a good time to get back
to the ship. Before anyone could wander off, or possibly decide that traveling
around was too exhausting and that it might be better just to make themselves a
little home somewhere.

No one had gotten drunk, though
it was pretty clear that both Dorgal and Wallace had sipped a bit of something
that wasn't made strictly of juice. Neither was tipsy however, just a bit relaxed
through the face. That wasn't a huge problem, so he didn't mention it. They
weren't serving on a military vessel after all.

They spent the night, each in
their own room, sleeping. Or at least he did. If the others were up to anything
else that was on them. No one asked to borrow his wakening amulet when he got
up and ready for the day. Then, no one else was around either, still sleeping.

He showered, changed into
practical and nearly military brown and green clothing, without adornment, and
moved the ship to Printer before Dorgal came staggering onto the bridge,
looking clean and well groomed. His hair was combed, and his face looked nice
over his black merchant attire, after a bit he nodded, then closed his eyes,
making himself a uniform that matched Gerents.

"So, we have things to do
today?" The former King of Vagus seemed bland about the idea, but he was
still right.

They had a lot to do in fact.
Dark and important things that Gerent suddenly wondered if he'd have been
better off taking on himself, alone. He wasn't a soft and pampered nobleman, no
matter what the titles called him now. He knew, deep in his soul, what had to
be done, and more, that he could do it. The same might not be true of the
others in this thing with him.

"I want to get Wallace back
first. He knows, about the old Count and that. I just don't want to take him to
see this kind of thing, if I can help it. Erid either. He's a good man and
doesn't need to be involved in this kind of work." He was ready to defend
that idea, and was even willing to lie and claim that it had been suggested to
him by the King or Queen Tiera, but to his surprise, Dorgal let his chin raise
in a single tick.

"Agreed. The rest of the
crew seems content to stay here for the time being. They don't know what's
going on, and I'm not certain that we could explain it to the women. Deng would
help, if he's needed, but Erid
shouldn't
. We'll need something for him
to do. I know, he can work the ship while the rest of us attend to things? How
about Misha? I don't think she needs to see this either. Bad enough you have
all those Counts and Countesses involved." There was no judgment in the
words, it was just stated as a fact. One that echoed his own thoughts of just a
moment before. The idea that Dorgal, an assassin by birth and probably
training, felt the same thing he did was strange to him. So much that Gerent
just let that go, for the time being.

As a plan it was pretty thin, but
hopefully it would be enough. They parked off the coast, near Holly Printer's
stone castle, which was a multicolored and motley looking thing that made him
smile to see, until he got to the collapsed half of it. That just pointed out
how dire things really were, he knew. Even structures that had lasted for
hundreds of years were at risk now. That probably meant that everything was.

Ger used the communications
device to get a hold of her. He did that, sitting off to the back, while Erid
piloted the Tim-craft, which was just big enough for all of them, and set down
in the weapons square, since no one was there yet for the day. Wallace hopped
out, his bag looking a bit out of place.

 "Thank you for having me,
Prince Gerent. It's been a pleasure to serve with you all." He bowed at
the door, but instead of bowing back, Gerent waved at him.

"You don't really think
you're getting off that easy do you? I just don't want you to fail out of this
place. Make sure you get all caught up, because we may need you for the next
mission. I'm going to collect more plants, if nothing else. It may not sound
interesting, but it actually
is
." To him. The Captain. That should
be all Wallace needed to be happy, right? Gerent smiled at the thought.

The boy waved back.

"Good then. Keep in
touch?" He said it like that wouldn't be happening.

That was the way of the world,
most of the time, wasn't it? You meant to stick with the people you once knew,
but never quite managed to make it happen, if they weren't there all the time.
He'd done that twenty or more times himself, over the years. Boon companions
that simply wandered away and were never seen again.

The morning was filled with
deciding who was going to go with them in person, and who was going to man the
secondary positions, collecting data and contacting the others that might have
information. On the good side, he only had to go and get people, since none of
the Counts or Countesses really thought that Gerent Lairdgren should be seen as
the prime driving force behind this. If he did all the work, then Count Ward
might not view it at a group effort, later. When he found out. When, it was
believed, would be the rule there. Not
if
. No one even hinted at that
idea.

Petra was left to her normal day
of teaching students how to fight, and not informed of the plans, but King
Richard stood by when they finally had everyone they needed. The craft, looking
very stately in black, which was the color of death, landed outside the King's
Palace slowly. That was the rule, but Gerent also wanted to make an entrance.
Killing a man in cold blood wasn't exactly new to him, but it had to be taken
seriously.

The people on the craft had been
pared down to five by that time. Erid was in control of the larger ship, which
was orbiting over the Capital at the moment. That left Dorgal, the former King
of the largest land in the world, Count Thomson, Count Peterson, Count Harris
and himself. There were two people standing outside the door. Or actually there
were eight, since six Royal Guard stood there, all armed to the teeth, but no
one pointed a weapon at anyone else, just at the ground.

The King was still the tallest
person in the group, though Peterson and Harris were close enough that he
didn't look too funny. Poor Dorgal was the one that seemed out of place, being
only
six-four.

The man next to the King wasn't
anyone that Gerent knew, being that he had dusky skin, and dark hair, as well
as brown eyes. In short, average looking, except for the fact that he was about
three inches taller than Ger was. The man wasn't a child at all, but the age
was hard to place. About forty, at a rough guess. His face was unlined and he
seemed like the sort of person that normally would have been smiling. He didn't
today, however.

Whoever he was, his face looked
bleak. They all seemed more than a bit down, if he were going to be honest.

The King looked at the group with
them, and blinked a few times, making it seem like it was too bright outside.
That was close to the truth. It was a nice, sunny day, and the sky was a lovely
shade of blue that begged for people to sit in the light, not go around
torturing and killing others.

The tall redheaded monarch was
dressed in fine looking clothing, but noticed that everyone else had dressed
down into various versions of what Dorgal and Gerent had on. After a moment he
matched them, in a plain outfit of black, purple and gold. Count Peterson was
the only one of them in real military black, but then, he was a general in the
army, so had earned the right. The King could have done that too, but this day
he was standing for himself, not the land. It made a difference.

His voice was smooth and deep as
he addressed them.

"I expected more to attend
this portion of things."

Count Peterson, his slightly red
and brown beard looking wild and full, did the speaking for them.

"It was decided that having
us all descend on the man might be a bit too close to taking pleasure in his
passing. Turn it into a spectacle. We aren't trying to give offense, simply
right wrongs and prevent more from happening." Then he bowed, but not to
the King. To the dark man standing next to him.

It didn't take a genius to figure
out that this would be the new Count Rodriguez then. The one that would have to
take his own forces to war if they dishonored the old man without cause. Or
possibly even if they had it.

There wasn't a lot of discussion
as to who was going to say what, they were just lead by the group of guards, to
the cell. If a private set of rooms in a lovely palace was a
cell
really. That was, he knew, partially his fault. The King made sure he
understood that.

"We took the idea from your
efforts after the attack on the city here a few years ago, Prince Gerent. When
you acted as the Warden for the prisoners of war? Treating them kindly and
seeing to their care, so that their fellows would know that we didn't intend
them harm, if they came to us. Not that it was truly the case here, with Will,
but appearances needed to be kept up."

As they got to the door, the
Royal Guardsmen and women all pulled their weapons, but Gerent moved in,
standing in front of them.

"Thank you, all of you. We
have this from here. If he starts to escape, if you could make certain that
doesn't happen? Otherwise, well, we have shields. Everyone?"

Count Harris and the new
Rodriguez both needed them. They each had something, but they were old and
didn't cover them from much. More than the prisoner could likely bring to bear,
but that wasn't the point. Gerent had extra with him, carrying more than he
needed, since he was taking people into space now. On the ship there was a tidy,
but not too small, box of them. He had five with him, other than his own. It
made for a lumpy pocket, but he didn't want to have Boxy out for this. He
didn't need to see this kind of thing. He was an innocent, to be protected.

When they got in the Count was
sitting up, having been lying on his bed. Naked. There was no particular reason
for that, since he had clothing resting on the dressing table across the room.
He clearly hadn't been expecting guests however. Gerent nodded at the man, and
pulled out the cutter he intended to use on him, as well as a healing amulet.
That would be needed, if they were going to do this right.

Without a word from anyone, or
asking permission, he just walked over to the man, smiled, and cut his dick off
in a single move. The big man realized what was happening about halfway through
and jumped back, yelling, but it was still gone and his balls were half off,
dangling toward the ground. He moved in and hit the man in the head, using his
shield and left hand, which hurt more than a fist would, causing him to sprawl
back on the giant bed.

Then he cleaned up his work,
making the wound far more even with another cut, and healed the man, triggering
the focus stone silhouette of Tor and holding it to his chest as he cried. A
few minutes later the bleeding had stopped and the man was looking down at
himself, sobbing still.

"Why?
Why
?" He
kept on in that vein, rather annoyingly, until Count Peterson moved in and hit
the man in the face, hard. That got silence, except for some rather pitiful
moaning. It pulled at his heart, but he didn't let it rule him. The man
deserved this.

The King spoke, his deep voice
soft. Enough so the crying man had to stop to hear him, which he did. He
grasped at his now naked hole, a healed place that would have let him pee, but
nothing else. It was smooth, and unscarred, as if it was what the man had
always had between his legs.

"You had your own betrothed,
Petra Ward, raped and tortured. Did you think that was never going to come back
on you? Even as you did it, you had to know that you couldn't survive such an
act. No one could, and we can't allow that to happen. You've had what time we
could give you. I hope you've found some peace, in the years you've sat
here?"

The man grimaced and shook his
head.

"I had her tortured, but
didn't order her raped. That was Jimson, the Guard Captain. I... don't think he
meant to disobey, I just hadn't been... Clear... Enough." There was
sobbing, and clutching at himself still, but that was the point. He needed to
know loss, before he died. It was important that he feel powerless, and like
nothing would ever be right again, no matter how long he lived. To feel like
Petra had.