Free Rebel Ice by S. L. Viehl Page B

programmed demeanor switched from interrogative to deferential. "This way, sir."
    "I see Janzil Ches Orjakis, Kangal of Skjonn. Presentation of prospect seven-nine-seven."
    Janzil Ches Orjakis, Kangal of Skjonn, reclined as the newest candidate for his personal use and amusement walked to the oval of polished stone before his chaise and halted there.
    Above his head, a panel reflected the image that pleased him most: his own. Many long hours had he devoted to achieving his physical excellence; maintaining it required continual vigilance. His father, Orjak Ches Stagon, the Kangal Before, had impressed this on him as nothing else.
    You are to be the Next , Stagon had told him when he had taken Orjakis for his first treatment. You must show care in this, for the people have expectations to be met .
    Having his young bones stretched and his small muscles stimulated by the offworlder machines had been painful, something Orjakis had never known, but he did not weep. Not in front of his father, who endured ten times as much treatment without a murmur. Orjakis's caregivers had made him understand the dangers of his position, too. There were others his father had sired who could easily be named Next, others who would not whine or complain about the rigors of physical duty.
    Now he was Kangal, and a man grown, he felt he had surpassed even Stagon as the embodiment of the ruler perfect.
    Orjakis turned his head to admire how golden threads of light chased each other through his dark hair. The angular countenance of boyhood had vanished, replaced by features that were a harmony of all things sensual and commanding. Countless Toskald had fallen in love with their Kangal merely after one glimpse of his face.
    His face could not compare with his body, naturally.
    Envy and desire should never be fatal.
    Orjakis lifted a hand mirror and through it regarded the slave. She was watching him, of course, and had remained silent. Someone in Acquisitions was putting more effort into pretraining these prospects. The slave slowly raised four graceful arms while she undulated beneath the sultry column of air streaming down from one of the ceiling portals. Her rather sedate garment actually consisted of long strands of sparkling tube gems, the flared joints of which caught the heated stream and caused the strands to fan out in pleasing patterns. As the strands moved, oiled brown-and-purple-striped flesh appeared.
    "What is she?" Orjakis asked his chamber drone, which had announced the prospect.
    The drone consulted its database. "Hybrid of as yet undetermined species, slave-born Garnotan, Kangal. Purchased from the Common Trade Platform by Acquisitions."
    Orjakis tilted the mirror. She had no hair or nose, and her double-lidded eyes had a black reptilian gleam to them that he found mildly repulsive. No breast mounds or nipples, either, unless they were on the back of her, but her ample hips were supple enough. She can keep her eyes shut . Orjakis found the extra limbs rather novel, and wondered if she sported any additional orifices. "Screen and clean her."
    Unfortunately, the female chose to drop into a complicated crouch that involved balancing on one palm while continuing the elegant movements of two arms. The fourth arm snaked down and worked her remaining hand in and out of her body.
    Although it was evidently meant to entice, the show of manual dexterity immediately killed Orjakis's interest. "Wait." Professionals always left him cold; he preferred to do his own training. "Cancel the prep work and send her to the garrison. Send in our notch."
    The slave made no sound, but her black eyes shimmered with realistic tears as the drone hauled her out of the chamber.
    Orjakis's notch, a retired trader who had sold himself to the Kangal to satisfy the last of an inherited debt, entered with recorder in hand. He had been so adept at his work that no one could remember his name anymore; he was simply the notch. "I see Janzil Ches Orjakis, Kangal of Skjonn.