The Sarran Plague (The Sarrans Book 1) by A.C. Katt

Author:A.C. Katt [Katt, A.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2013-07-28T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

“The Lamb that belonged to the sheep,

whose skin the Wolf was wearing,

began to follow the Wolf in the Sheep’s clothing;

so, leading the Lamb a little apart,

he soon made a meal off her.”

—Aesop’s Fables, A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Sarran Calendar: Cycle 9435.B115

Earth Calendar: June 25th morning

Anya picked at her breakfast. She had awoke this morning in her lovers’ arms, but they didn’t stay put long enough for a second act. She had stuck out her lower lip and attempted a pout. Having had little practice, it was unsuccessful at best, laughable at worst. It earned a buss on the check from Jonal and a distracted pat on the head from Tonas. She was seriously irritated with her princes. Anya bristled. ::I am not some toy spaniel to be put on a pillow to get fat on bon bons whiling away the time until my masters’ return. This sucks big time. I’m going to have to talk to Jonal about attempting some meaningful work. Maybe I can find some of the other women and see what they need.::

Anya threw on a peach toga-type blouse of brushed silk edged with ivory satin ribbons. She attached a coral and mother-of-pearl cameo to her shoulder and slipped on a pair of ivory satin pants edged with the peach silk. Dainty ballerina flats in peach and ivory completed the ensemble. Just because she didn’t need the Princess Di wardrobe her lovers had provided, didn’t mean she couldn’t wear it. She twisted her hair atop her head, holding it with pearlized sticks topped by coral flowers. She found a pair of mabe pearl earrings that were just right for the outfit and with a quick slash of peach gloss, off she went.

Anya had free rein of the ship and she wanted to explore. Jonal and Tonas were in conference in the StarRoom, Tigger was AWOL, and the only other person she knew on board, Mark, was in there with them. It was time to boldly go where blah blah. An apt metaphor, she thought. The fleet ships were refitted with universal signs adapted from common Earth usage. Unused to free time and having little responsibility, she studied the symbols. Assured she could find her way around without a problem, Anya left the quarters. As the command Star Cruiser of the both the Galactic and Sarran fleet, Brightstar was the size of a micropolitan city of 50,000, stuffed into two square miles of sardine can. The corridors reeked of art deco canoodling one of the French Louies, ornate and pre-fabbed. As Anya roamed, men gawked, but none approached her until she hit a corridor near the mess hall.

She had presumed that the mess was quiet this time of day, just after breakfast but not quite time for lunch. She knew she was close by when a whiff of fresh brewed Jamaican Blue Mountain titillated her nose. A quick reverse to backtrack engaged Anya in a near on collision with a Sarran male. She pushed up against the sidewall to stabilize her position, leaving handprints on the calendared crenellations.

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