Page 47 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced
“Security?” I echo, glancing at Rusty. “He’s a tea server, not a battle bot.”
“This unit has seventeen defensive protocols,” Rusty informs me cheerfully. “Including targeted electrical discharge and emergency lockdown procedures.”
I stare at the droid. “You’re kidding.”
“This unit does not ‘kid’ about security functions,” Rusty replies. “Though this unit can provide humorous observations about the effectiveness of said functions if desired.”
“That... won’t be necessary,” I manage, wondering what else I don’t know about my mechanical friend.
Vex’ra looks mildly satisfied. “The tour is scheduled for the fourteenth hour. I will meet you at the agricultural dome entrance.”
After she leaves, I turn to Henrok with raised eyebrows. “So my new buddy is actually a weaponized tea server? Were you planning to mention that before or after he electrocuted someone for using the wrong fork?”
“His defensive capabilities are minimal,” Henrok says dismissively. “Designed to protect diplomatic guests, not engage in combat.”
“Still,” I cross my arms, “it might have been nice to know before I started rewiring his personality matrix.”
Henrok moves closer, his massive frame suddenly very near. “Would it make you feel better to know that I have personally verified his systems are functioning correctly? That I would not allow you near him if I believed there was any risk?”
The intensity in his voice catches me off guard. “You checked him? When?”
“While you slept,” he admits. “I observed your repairs were skillful but... unorthodox. I wished to ensure there would be no unforeseen complications.”
I should probably be annoyed at this overprotective gesture, but instead, I find it oddly touching. “You were worried about me.”
“Always,” he says simply, the word carrying more weight than a thousand flowery declarations.
My heart does a complicated little flip in my chest. This—this right here—is what keeps throwing me off balance. Not thesex (though that’s spectacular), not the luxury of the fortress, not even the newfound purpose I’ve found in reorganizing their chaotic systems. It’s these moments of raw honesty, of someone caring enough to worry, to protect, to see me.
“Well,” I say, trying to lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere, “since Rusty is apparently my armed escort now, maybe we should test his capabilities. Rusty, what would you do if someone threatened me?”
The droid swivels toward me, lights blinking rapidly. “This unit would first issue a verbal warning. If the threat persisted, this unit would deploy non-lethal deterrents scaling in intensity from mild electrical shock to temporary neural disruption.”
“And if that didn’t work?” I press, genuinely curious now.
“This unit would then recite particularly graphic Venturian slug-beast poetry until the aggressor retreated in psychological distress,” Rusty states with what sounds suspiciously like pride.
I burst out laughing. “Now that’s a weapon I can get behind.”
Even Henrok’s mouth twitches in amusement. “Your modifications may have improved his effectiveness.”
“See? I told you he needed personality,” I say smugly, then glance at the time display. “I should probably clean up before this diplomatic tour. I’ve been elbow-deep in manifests all morning.”
Henrok nods, but before I can move toward the door, he reaches for something on his belt. “Before you go, there is a matter we should conclude.”
He places an object on the table between us—the override beacon that started this whole mess. Its casing gleams dully in the chamber’s light, innocuous-looking despite the havoc it nearly caused.
“The STI representatives will demand evidence of Corsairian interference,” Henrok explains. “This device is the proof.”
I eye the beacon warily. “So you’re keeping it as leverage?”
“No.” His expression hardens. “I am destroying it. Now. With you as witness.”
Without further warning, Henrok places one massive hand over the device and squeezes. The metal crumples like paper, components cracking audibly under the pressure. When he removes his hand, the beacon is nothing but a crushed lump of useless materials.
“Whoa,” I breathe, genuinely impressed by the casual display of strength. “That’s... one way to handle evidence.”
“The internal components have been thoroughly analyzed and documented,” he says calmly. “The physical device itself is too dangerous to preserve. Too tempting for those who might wish to study its function for their own purposes.”
