Mr. Epitome exited the Caphan flagship’s airlock looking disheveled and angry. His uniform had been torn to near rags and smelled thoroughly acrid, and long scars laced his exposed flesh. The Man of Might stomped to the quarters of the man who had sent him on the mission that so sullied his appearance.
“Here,” he said to Sir Mumphrey, holding out to the august Englishman a deceptively cheery day-glo colored sphere.
“Phaugh!” Mumph held his nose as he caught wind of Epitome’s aroma, “What happened to you, man? Did you have to chase Young Foxglove’s beastie into a sewer line before stuffing it back in its little home away from home?”
“No,” Dominic glowered, “That…. Thing urinated on me.”
Sir Mumphrey Wilton stared at the Oddity Orb that currently held the Chupacabra that CreazySugarFreakBoy! had decided to call his pet, “Why don’t you just set him down over there by the armoire, Mr. Epitome.”
The Paragon of Power complied.
“So I gather by your general condition retrieving the critter turned out to be a bit of a sticky wicket, what?”
“You could say that. It took me half an hour to find the damned thing on the Skree starship, and just as long to wrestle it back into the Orb.”
“Well, I’m sure CrazySugarFreakLad! will appreciate the effort put forward in rescuing his pet monster,” Mumph smiled broadly, “Well done, Dominic.”
The look on Dominic’s face made it clear such a possibility would not affect his mood in the slightest, “I’m going to take a shower,” he muttered before tramping off.
*****
Mr. Epitome dismissed the Caphan body slaves sent as “aid for his ablutions,” and since the only baths aboard the ship were communal, chose to scrub himself clean in his quarter’s sink.
He salvaged what gear he could from his tattered and soiled uniform and tossed the rest down the garbage chute. With reluctance Dominic slipped on the sleeveless leather tunic with the open neck the Caphans had left him but balked at putting on the matching skirt. He was using his Swiss Army knife and first aid kit to sew together some leggings using the room’s curtains when Kriige knocked and entered.
“You’re quite proficient in woman’s work, I see,” she observed with a trace of sarcasm.
“I’m compelled by my sense of modesty.”
The courtesan nodded and sat on the salon’s couch, “If Prince Aarmus saw you toiling away like this he would rethink his decision not to call your bluff.”
“It’s not a bluff,” Epitome shot back as he put the finishing stitches into his makeshift breeches.
Kriige did not agree, “I told my master that you Earthers lack the will to engage in a protracted adventure so far from your galaxy. Your planet’s superheroes aren’t even willing to take on corrupt dictatorships in their own backyards.”
“I’m not a superhero,” Dominic said by reflex, then observed, “So you admit Caph is a corrupt dictatorship. Turn away for a moment, please.”
The Caphan smirked but complied, allowing Epitome some privacy as he kicked aside the strategically placed pillows and into his new pants, “I said nothing of the sort.”
“How did Aarmus respond to your counsel?”
Kriige turned and nodded with approval at the Man of Might’s tailoring, “My master told me that ‘I had not seen the look in the aliens’ eyes, for if I had, I would never question his decision.’”
“Smart man.”
“Perhaps. But one not inclined to take risks.”
It was Mr. Epitome’s turn to look in alien eyes and attempt to gauge the strength of their convictions, “Sir Mumphrey and I have a proposition for you, Miss Kriige. We are offering you asylum on Earth.”
“You wish to steal me from my House?”
“The term is ‘liberate’, actually,” he countered.
The woman smiled decorously, “Just me? I must have made a strong impression.”
“You did. However, in just freeing you we are forced to be practical. Most of the other slaves we have encountered have shown difficulty acclimating to our world. With your understanding of Earth culture we feel that wouldn’t be a problem.”
“I see. But why should I wish to leave? House Daarthon cares for me and gives me more opportunity than your supposedly enlightened culture would. I am a valued member of my master’s entourage, living in opulance with close proximity to power. Can your world offer me that?” she stepped closer, “Can you offer me that?”
“Not really, no.”
“A pity,” she ran her lacquered nails across Epitome’s exposed sternum, “I may have considered it then.”
Dominic gave a brief grunt and folded his arms across his chest, “Very well. I will respect your choice to remain in bondage.”
“Why thank you, Lord Epitome. You are as merciful as you are wise.”
The Man of Might briefly scowled at the exaggerated obsequiousness of the compliment, but had to admit to himself it was better if her sycophancy was false, “Goodbye…. Mistress,” and saw her off with a smile.
204.196.109.240 (204.196.109.240) IP Address
Microsoft Internet Explorer 5/Windows 98 (0 points)
