\--==Official Submission==-- FROM: First Sergeant Alexander Rahl RE: The Lady''s Hand: Part Two The Lady's Hand fell into the chair behind his desk, exhausted from his day. The golden armor and the badges of his office lay in a neat pile in the corner. He idly looked at a few intelligence reports while gnawing on some meat and cheese that had been left out for his return. “You killed Tarek.” She said as she glided in from the bedchamber, her gossamer robe hanging open and drifting along behind her. “He tried my patience.” Kishara walked up to the desk and perched herself on its corner, resting her bare feet in the General's lap. “You're not one to be wasteful,” she continued, an amused yet alluring grin on her face, ”and Tarek has been by your side for over ten years. Why?” “I don't know,” said Alexander, having given up attempting to read the reports around Her bare thighs and leaning back in his chair. “Something he said just set me off for some reason. He was dead before I knew I had killed him.” “Hmm.” She replied thoughtfully, but quickly shook it off. “I have no quarrel with it, the man was a pig. But why replace him with Thames? His sadism has always been his most...pronounced asset, but it's a concerning one with him in such a position of power.” “He doesn't hold a candle to Whisper's malice, and he had even more power.” “And, you'll note,” she retorted, giving his groin a playful nudge with her toes, “ he failed me. And then you slew him.” “After millennia of service to you. No, Thames will work out fine. His respect of me and his fear of you will keep him in line. He's a decent enough tactician for the job.” A devilish grin played across Her face then, and She hopped off the desk into his lap, straddling him, and pressed Her face close to his. “And young Salmnow?” she asked, running her hands under his tunic. Alexander took a deep sigh then, and seemed to be consumed with thoughts within. “Ohhh...now, now,” she cooed. “You can't hide anything from me and you know it; especially not after the years we've had together. You were a blacksmith once...as a boy.” He looked up into her eyes then, and they locked, staring into each other's souls. “Even the son of a poor tailor woman. The son of a soldier who came and went from your mother's life just as Salmnow's father did.” “I'm above such sentiment,” he said quietly, staring into her eyes. “Are you?” She said with a playful smile, nudging closer to him if that were possible. “You are indeed a killer of killers, dear lover,” she said, laying kisses on his face, “you are indeed.” Without warning, She sprung from his lap and glided to the door, letting the robe fall from her shoulders and she floated into the bedchambers. “Come to bed Alexander,” she said over her shoulder, “it's late.” Alexander took a moment to remember Salmnow's second fault; the boy had a real conscience, grown from the Priest's drugs having little or no effect on him. And for a moment Alexander remembered someone else in his life, another Terath-Ambul, who had suffered the same “affliction”. “Alexander...” came the voice from the bedchambers, carrying with it the promise of a very, very late night. He shook off the reverie and gazed at the stack of reports and documents on his desk, each one needing his immediate attention. He looked at the bedchamber, illuminated with hundreds of tiny candles, and the tips of Her toes on the bed within view through the door. He looked back at his desk. “Fuck the reports,” he whispered, already moving to his bed.