4: The Countdown Begins

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Nefertiti I

 Heir to the Throne of UPAE

Columbian Complex (CC)

8/10/47

                “Nefertiti,” the blond said, brushing two fingers across his collar bone, forehead, and finally lips, extending the paired fingers towards her. “I have been dying to make your acquaintance since arriving here.”

                She forces a smile past her teeth. Antarctican. It evaporated off him like he was carved in dry ice, the way he stood like iron was rammed down his spine, the way his nose brushed the sky and his voice was dry and brittle, as if it had never been raised above a conversational tone. Well that, and no other nationality would wear an entirely white pirate costume, eye patch included.

                “I’m sorry,” she smiles and extends her hand, restraining a shiver as his freezing fingers touch her own. “My dance card was full.” He smiles, and is it just her or are those teeth strangely sharp? Well, not like she is one to talk.

                “I observed,” his accent is crisp and tart, his lips purse slightly around words as if they left a bad taste in his mouth. “No matter, now we may-” His voice cuts off as he places a hand on her hip, head cocking to the side. She catches the sheen of a communicator pressed into his ear canal. He frowns, and removes his hands from her person. Nefertiti resists batting them away. He was not ugly, nor was he old, but still his touch disgusted her. Something about his darting eye, pale as the moon and nowhere near as beautiful.

                “Well, this is an unfortunate circumstance. I’m afraid the dance must wait,” He nods and backs off, melting into the crowd seamlessly.

                The rest of her dancing partners were not quite as eccentric. She smiled through maybe fifty war tales of World War Three generals, went along with the bolstering and posturing of Indian Princes, nodded to all the political complaints of upper bureaucrats and had collected fifty business cards from shady water mine tycoons, gold prospectors, and trans-polar shipping giants.

                The entire time her eyes search the crowd, trying to pick out her Chosen. Sliver had disappeared into the garden after Chester had vanished. At first Kain had been easy to find, but he must have gone back to Lion House with one of the air brains he was impressing. Roy had made himself scarce as well, probably for the opposite reason Kain had gone up in smoke. 

                Now she stood alone in the center of the ball room, glass of champagne dangling listlessly from her fingers. She frowns. Now that she thinks of it, she hadn’t seen any of her Consorts in an hour. Strange.

                There, across the crowd, Roswell miraculously appears. She tries to catch his eye without making a fool of herself and waving, but as his sunglassed eyes scan the crowd he doesn’t seem to see her. Sighing, she drops her full glass onto a collector bot, not caring as the golden liquid dribbles down its side.  She lifts her hand, about to wave, when a cool paper hand grasps it and twirls her neatly into hold, sweeping her into the throng and permanently out of the sight of the head of SUIT.

                It is the Antarctican from before with his cool milky eye and shimmering white eye patch. However his presence is different now. His eye jerks from side to side, he is breathing through his mouth, and his brow is an increment higher. And while his hands are still cold, now a thin layer of sweat sits between their palms. He was definitely nervous.