The Lotus Eaters

Rome, Province of Italy, Old Earth

Though she'd come prepared, in more ways than one, to do whatever it took to secure her ends, Wallenstein balked, for the first time in a long life. It surprised no one more than herself, too. Still, memories of servicing her "betters" since she'd been a teenager had risen to the surface. So, too, had memories of being betrayed and abandoned by those "betters," once they'd had their fill of her. I've prostituted myself for well over a century and what do I have to show for it? Nothing? No, not nothing, but not enough, either. And enough is enough. Diadems are enough. Teenagers being cut up on the Ara Pacis is enough. Enough! The confusion, uncertainty, and indecision on her face was replaced with a steely hard determination.

"No," Marguerite said to the SecGen. "You don't need me for that and doing it would say nothing positive about my ability to deal with the problems you and yours have created and let fester. You want your cock sucked; ring the bell for the major domo. I've had enough of you Class Ones and your puerile obsessions with your genitalia."

Without bothering with a departing proskynesis, Marguerite turned on her heels and began walking, head proudly erect, to pick up her valise.

"Stop," the SecGen commanded. Unseen, he smiled, the smile possibly having an element of satisfaction to it. "Have a seat. You are, of course, right. I don't need you for your mouth but for your mind. You're also right that we have problems of our own making."

Wallenstein did stop. Her chin raised in anger. "I have conditions," she said, without turning.

"Let us discuss them, then," the SecGen agreed. "And you may assume that whatever may happen with the general meeting with the Consensus tomorrow, my word will carry."