The Elementalist

21. Captain Andre Neverri

Captain Andre NeverriVoi followed Colonel Snipes and Milia to an office where boisterous laughter and discussion could be heard. Once there, he pushed open the door then gestured for the ladies to go in first.

Milia whispered in an aside, “I didn’t think you had it in you to be so forthright, Voi. Truly, I’m impressed!” She gave a definitive nod then turned back around.

Silly as it was, Voi couldn’t help but smirk.

An object came soaring through the air without warning.

Voi instinctively froze while Milia dodged. A blink of the eye later, she realized there was a combat knife sticking out of the wall beside them—right in the center of a painted bullseye. Male voices cried out in appraisal at first but were cut short when Milia yanked the knife out of the wall then redirected her pin-point gaze to the men, seeking out the owner of the deadly projectile.

Every wide-eyed soul in the office looked at the man sitting alone at a drafting desk near the other end of the room. “Whoops!” he declared blithely, tossing his hands in the air. “Looks like you walked right into our little game.”

Voi threw a hand to her heart, remembering to breathe; the knife had barely missed Milia’s head.

Milia considered the knife with an eerie calm before looking over at the man, who casually had his feet propped up on his workstation.

He flashed her an innocuous smile.

Frowning, Milia strutted in a deliberate, measured fashion across the room—the heels of her pumps reverberating off the concrete floor and effectively cutting through the silence. Personnel stumbled out of her path, watching her with unease. She stopped at the edge of the desk, spread her feet apart, then stared her quarry in the eye. Seeing that she had the captain’s full attention, Milia staked the knife into the surface of his desk with a satisfying thunk.

“Why, thank you!” the man said breezily. When he bent forward to retrieve his weapon, however, he found it to be more difficult than expected. His face soured as he rose halfway to give the handle a second, then a third tug.

Finally, the knife came free, and he stumbled backward. “Well,” he said, a nervous chuckle betraying his sentiments. He eased himself back onto the stool then slid the knife into his boot sheath, his face flushed with the effort it had taken to free the thing from the desk. He then ran his fingers through his smooth, dark hair, smiling pleasantly for effect.

Without a word, Milia turned on her heels to rejoin Voi and Colonel Snipes by the door, who both stared at her.

The colonel finally cleared his throat.

“Colonel Snipes!” said the man at the desk, slapping his hands on the surface. The other personnel fled the room, all at once resuming their duties. The knife owner, clearly indifferent to the implications of the colonel’s scowl, went on jollily, “What a pleasant surprise! I see you come bearing favorable company, as well.” He arched a devious eyebrow.

Voi couldn’t help but laugh. Immediately, she regretted it and covered her mouth.

“Neverri,” said the colonel, “I’d like to introduce you to two ladies.” He added without humor, “Try not to get excited.” He gestured first to Milia. “Captain, this is Special Envoy Milia Furlan. She’s here to monitor our new pilot’s progress throughout testing the MR-6—a, uh… psychological consultant, if you will. Also, a surrogate representative for the League and its Technology Council. Councilman Hozier sends his regards.”

“I see.” The captain rose carefully from a particularly squeaky drafting stool. “I thought that was your job, colonel: keeping the soldiers ship-shape and ready for duty.”

“I’m here to determine whether your aerocraft meets AAC specifications; currently, it does not. And I suggest you wipe that smirk off your face, captain—for if Miss Román, skilled as she may be, proves incapable of flying your invention, then I’m afraid this will be the Apexian Aero Corps’ final attempt at purchasing your so-called aero-craft.”

Captain Neverri’s face contorted, clearly offended. “Come now, colonel.” He spread his hands. “Surely you realize the problem lies not in my invention but rather in your test pilots’ abilities to fly it!”

Even though his tone was joking, Voi realized the captain was also being completely serious. She forced down a lump in her throat, not liking the ever-growing tension between the men.

However, Colonel Snipes sighed. “As much as I believe in the technology behind what you’re developing, Neverri, its pool of potential users is shrinking to the point that the aero corps may not have any potential users at all! Assuming this pilot doesn’t work out.” He glanced at Voi, who bit her lip.

“Something I intend to remedy,” said the captain, “through intensive, long-term research—with additional patronage from the League, of course.” He beamed.

Grunting unfavorably, the colonel turned back to Voi. “Speaking of pilots… may I introduce Miss Román—your latest and final test pilot, as far as the AAC is concerned.”

Recalling the employee rumors she’d overheard about all the pilots they’d been through already, Voi’s eyes widened.

Captain Neverri approached the two women with a dignified bearing. “Ah, Ms. Furlan.” He took her hand, planting a delicate kiss on the back. Voi noticed that his Windi was very posh and elegant, the way a native from Kingston in Windsor might speak it—the way Milia spoke it.

Milia, however, managed to maintain her cold, reserved demeanor, outwardly unaffected by the captain’s gentlemanly display. Seeing this, he frowned and let go of her hand, then cleared his throat and straightened out his trench coat. “I’ve heard much about your work for the League in Darmoil, Mihn Ten in particular. You uncovered quite the controversy with Soryul’s mining operations. Admirable work there!”

“Yes,” said Milia with a tilt of the head—not quite giving in to the flattery though not entirely despising it, either. “Well, I don’t think the situation is under control yet, captain. As cases of locals abducting citizens and selling them on the black market continue to rise, s*****y very much remains a legitimate issue abroad. Beyond that, it is my personal belief that Soryul still holds considerable influence over events in Darmoil. I suspect there may even be a connection between him and the Haran.”

“Pure speculation,” said Neverri, waving a hand. “Nevertheless, I think the locals were fortunate to have you on their side. It’s a pity to hear how you were seen out of the country recently, though—an assassination attempt!”

“Mark my words, captain, much more lurked beneath Soryul’s appropriated mining empire than a stockpile of slave laborers.” She folded her hands behind her and stood taller. “I’m certain the mercenaries I encountered at the prison didn’t go there on their own volition.”

The captain’s forehead wrinkled. “You think Soryul was somehow responsible?”

“I do, but unfortunately, aside from the dying words of a mercenary, I haven’t any hard proof. Not yet, anyway.”

Captain Neverri shook his head. “First he was capitalizing on slaves; now he’s bribing corrupt imperial prison guards to carry out his work? With as many connections as Soryul has… Well, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to break himself out of prison.” He took a step forward, adding in a hushed tone, “Frankly, Milia, I think more attention should be directed towards the Haran movement. The activists have been livelier than usual, though perhaps this is due to Darmoil’s upcoming induction into the League.”

Judging by the bleak expression that followed, Voi surmised he was not a supporter of this.

“Well,” he continued, “knowing how conservative and optimistic you pro-League types tend to be, I suppose this is all just wishful thinking on my part.” He stared at Milia momentarily then smiled. “Nevertheless, hundreds—thousands—of slaves were set free because of you. You remain a heroine in my eyes, in any case.”

“Thank you, captain.” Milia returned a graceful dip of the head.

Voi stared at the diplomat in awe.

Suddenly, Neverri drew his eyebrows in confusion. “Forgive me,” he said laughingly, “but would you care to explain why a notable stateswoman known for negotiating trade deals has suddenly been reassigned to—”

“We’ve already established this,” said Milia. “I’m here to look after the completion of the project as well as the mental health of our pilot.”

“Ha!” He leaned back, holding his stomach as he laughed again. “The League and their ‘official stories.’”

Milia glared. “Don’t make an issue of this, Neverri. Remember who funds your more,” she eyed him condescendingly, “experimental endeavors, shall we call them. Are we on the same page?”

He chuckled. “Now I see why your presence is necessary. Combined with the iron-willed determination of Colonel Snipes…” He sucked air in through his teeth, shaking his head. “That is a convincing combination, I’m afraid. Convincing, indeed.” He smiled at Colonel Snipes; the officer returned an annoyed look.

Nevertheless, the captain went on. “I suspected there was something more nebulous to the contract.” He waved this away. “I suppose we’ll just have to sort that out later.” At last, he turned to Voi. “Ah, e Dammissi Román—noittro piolotti nova.” He took her hand in his. “Se plis, dammissi, saenen tad fer jou.”

Well, ‘the pleasure’ wasn’t all his.

The captain spoke with a nasally, airy quality that enticed Voi into an unwitting trance, and she found herself observing the rhythm of his breathing—a distraction suspended only after he bowed, placing his lips upon the back of Voi’s trembling hand. When he looked at her, a devious light seemingly danced in his eyes, dark and knowing and full of f*******n desire.

Regardless of his Sector One clearance, something told Voi that this man would tease out the truth of her nature in a slow, fond, yet unkind way—if anything could be extracted from his wicked expression.

Voi squinted, considering the captain more closely. There were many fine aspects to his groomed appearance, to his credit: full hair, which was generously oiled and combed back; his broad shoulders, which filled out his double-breasted leather trench coat—a mark of a Z’Gaurdeaer officer; and of course, there was the dashing, roguish grin. Most of all was the intense passion which seemed to smolder behind his all-too-suave features.

Voi’s palm grew sweaty in his grasp, and her heart began to palpitate. His aura quietly beckoned to hers, enveloping Voi with the sensation of a sensual kiss, leaving her defenseless. Invisible tendrils of cologne tempted her nostrils, penetrating her refusal to breathe. Meanwhile, the sounds and conversations of the hangar simultaneously rose to a headache-inducing pitch, and her sight grew so vivid as to cast everything in a rainbow of light—her pupils, no doubt, dilating as her mind and body opened themselves more fully to aetheric, and therefore carnal, suggestion.

Voi winced and pulled away from the garish onslaught of detail, afraid of being entirely ravished by the ecstatic experience. She shielded her eyes from the industrial lighting above then turned away from the captain, afraid that he might notice her pupils.

“Miss Román,” he said, “are you alright?”

Dr. Moore’s words echoed in her mind: “Just remember to close your eyes and take deep, steady breaths.” She followed his advice, forcing herself to calm down. A hand rested on her shoulder, and she whirled, braving the captain’s surprised yet confident brown-eyed gaze.

How could he stand to look into her flooded irises without growing terrified of their darkness? Were they not unnatural, unsightly things?

Captain Neverri lifted his head slowly as if recalling some long-forgotten knowledge. “Ah… s’emelesia.” He smiled, retracting his hand. He switched back to Windi as if this would make her more comfortable. “In the presence of your striking beauty, I almost forgot about your condition.” He spoke with an appraising gaze and the air of an art connoisseur—undoubtedly having sampled many feminine ‘masterpieces’ in his lifetime.

Unable to form a coherent reply, Voi stared at him with her mouth agape, wondering how many of the renowned ‘Huntsman’s’ romantic quarries had been half-breeds like herself—some of the Borellian elite were notoriously funny about this—let alone lowly emelesiacs. Voi’s cheeks grew warm, for it wasn’t normal to look at an emelesiac with such approval knowing that she was, in fact, an emelesiac.

Milia rushed in, swift to the rescue. “Yes, yes, she has emelesia. This was all mentioned in her papers, captain. It was agreed this wouldn’t be a problem.”

“No.” Still, he continued staring at Voi. “Not at all.”

Though she was well aware of her dilated eyes, Voi found it difficult to tear her gaze from him. All she could do was swallow.

Milia grabbed Voi by the shoulders, effectively shocking her out of her trance. “Voi will cope much better once she’s given a task to complete, I assure you.”

“Of course!” said the captain, seemingly snapping from his spell. There was gaiety in his bounce. “Right, the aerocraft. Forgive me.” He gestured to the door. “This way, ladies.”

“Rapacious wolf,” Milia mumbled as they left the room.

Pressing a hand to her chest, Voi asked, “Why does he make me feel this way?”

“Well clearly, you’re aroused.”

Voi’s eyes bulged.

Milia leaned closer and whispered, “Do keep your distance from him, and try to remain composed. Something tells me he’s fully aware of the effect he’s having on you.”