The door to the passenger cell of the robotic shuttle opened with a pneumatic hiss. The  lone passenger stepped into a large aerodome that smelled strongly of the same ozone and synthetic lubricants that seemed ubiquitous among spaceports across the galaxy. His nostrils flared, but that was the only reaction he showed to the bright lights and bustling surroundings. He stood respectfully at the end of the shuttle ramp and waited with stoic patience.  Stepping onto the tarmac would constitute his entry into another country without permission, which in some parts of the galaxy was grounds for his lawful execution.

People were walking all around him, but one set of footsteps in particular caught his attention.  Hard leather soles attached with brass binding nails might be old-fashioned but they never went out of style, and they were only present on handmade shoes worn by a certain class of people; specifically, those who were either extraordinarily rich, or those in their employ who had to maintain appearances.  Victus rotated his ears to locate the staccato tapping and contracted his pupils to sharpen his vision.

The owner of the shoes  was walking toward him.  He was fairly short, early middle-aged, and impeccably dressed.  As the man crossed the distance, Victus watched carefully for any imbalance in his gait that would hint at a concealed distance weapon, or any disruption in the fall of his suit that might indicate a bladed weapon held in an inner pocket.  Although nothing about the man’s appearance suggested any immediate danger, his total lack of interest in his environment was, itself, worthy of a Protector’s interest.  The man approaching him was as out-of-place among common travelers as was a nag in a horse race, yet he seemed totally at ease.

Victus watched as the man’s eyes focused on the red omega symbol delicately embroidered on the  cuffs of the wolf’s traveling robes.

“You are Protector Victus Entrades?”  The man’s formal bearing did not conceal the surprise in his eyes. The last thing he had expected was for the Kenzine he was meeting to be a hybrid.

"I am," Victus intoned then bowed in formal greeting.  To his pleased surprise, instead of following Galise’s typical custom of extending his hand in greeting the man bowed in return, to a depth suggesting respect and welcome.  “And you are Leland of House Mal?”

"I am," the man said, giving a second formal bow which now was Victus's to return.  After a momentary pause to indicate his gratitude that he’d been recognized, Leland straightened his back and, once he was certain that Victus was watching and would not be startled by the motion, pulled his comm out of a small leather pouch at his waist. “Your documents, please?”

Victus extended his own communicator, which had somehow appeared in his hand without Leland ever seeing him remove it from its storage compartment.   “Four, three, tango, one, two, five.” Leland intoned.

“Jonquil, happy, Duluth, rictus, savor,“ Victus replied, and the two men watched their electronic devices as they exchanged digital notes.  Both machines beeped verification of identity, and it was done.

"The Negin sends his regards and welcomes you to the House, Protector Entrades.”

At the words of welcome, Victus stepped off the ramp onto the shuttle bay floor.  "Thank you, Leland of Mal," he said. "Please, call me Victus.

"Thank you, Victus. You may call me Leland."  A shift in his bearing indicated that now that the formal greeting had been extended, Leland had returned to business mode. “Negin Mal regrets not being here to greet you himself.  Max, our head of security, has him under lock and key after the last attempt on his life."  He turned away from the shuttle and gestured to Victus.  “This way, please.  We’ll have someone come for your things.”  Without waiting for a reply, he began tap-tap-tapping his way across the tarmac.

With wry amusement, Victus noticed that Leland carried about him the air of a man who could be either obsequious or authoritative, or both at once if the situation called for it. "Thank you, Leland," he said, to the retreating back.  He stepped back to the shuttle for a moment to retrieve the small pack he had stowed behind the door, then caught up to the man in a dozen unhurried strides, not bothering to close the door behind him.  The shuttle A.I. was smart enough to keep unauthorized persons from entering.  “They won't have much to bring,” he said, as if he’d never left Leland’s side. “There is a single half-crate of clothing, and some equipment which may prove useful to me."

Leland turned to him but did not break stride. “They did tell you that this may be an extended stay, did they not?"  

Victus nodded.  "If I recall, the length of contract is two years," he said, "subject to early termination by either party, should I discover the identity of the person attempting to kill the Negin."

"So you either feel you're going to identify the killer quickly or you travel very light."

"Or I could have crates of equipment shipped to me as needed at a later date," Victus offered a third possibility.  "But you are correct that I travel light.  I prefer to rely on what I carry with me."

Leland resumed his path.  "And the little luxuries that make life worth living?"  he asked, conversationally.

"Kenzine carry those internally, as well," Victus answered.  "What you carry within yourself can never be lost." Victus considered Leland’s silence in response to this statement to be indicative of polite disagreement.

With an air of ownership, the shorter man led Victus off the main concourse and onto a small platform overlooking the grounds surrounding the aerodome.   Victus had seen much of the surrounding territory through the shuttle’s window as they landed, but seeing it from where they now stood gave the view perspective.  When seen from the platform, the view was indeed impressive. With a subdued flourish, Leland indicated the vista spreading out before them.  “Welcome to House Mal, Protector Victus.”

Having grown up only a few hundred miles away from where they stood, Victus was well aware of the power and influence wielded by the great houses of Galise.  The landscape below him looked less like a grand estate and more like a small city, with its largest single structure at the geographic center.  This stone and marble fortress, Victus knew, would be the home of the Negin. Smaller buildings and parks fanned out from this main structure in a radial pattern, connected by walking paths more often than roads.  Victus thought that whoever laid out the initial plan had struck an uncommonly harmonious balance between aesthetics and utility.

“All that you see before you is House Mal.  Founded at the start of the Galese colony and still growing, we were built upon the most productive dalterium mines in the known galaxy.” The obvious pride in Leland’s voice could have convinced Victus that he was talking to the Negin himself and not an employee.  

His companion’s proprietary bearing caught Victus’ attention.  “The information I’ve been given on House Mal describes you as Majordomo, but lists no specific duties under that title.”

Leland smiled. “That’s because I do everything.”  He turned to regard the rambling estate, which extended for several kilometers in every direction.  “The house employs many others, to be sure.  Hundreds, in fact.   And the performance of each and every one of them ultimately falls on my shoulders. Mine is a position which was held by my father, and his father before him, all the way back to the time of landing.   We keep things orderly,” he said, pride coloring his voice. ”Negins will come and go, but we majordomos are the backbone that makes the houses work.”

“You must be quite busy,” Victus said, as they turned away from the viewing platform and continued on their way down the concourse.  “I’m grateful that you found time to pick me up in person.”

Leland’s soft chuckle was somewhat mysterious.  “My time is precious, Victus.  Under normal circumstances,  individuals who merit a slice of my time are on their way out, rather than in.”

He led Victus out of the building and towards a waiting limousine. “To answer your question, the majority of my time is spent making decisions that cannot be delegated.  I depend heavily on my subordinates to take care of everything else.”  The doors to the aircar swung open at their approach, and Leland walked to the far side and sat without breaking stride.  The moment Victus had seated himself and the motorized doors had swung themselves shut, the car took off.  Through the glazing Victus could see the horizon tilt extremely as the vehicle blasted into the sky,  although its operation was so well muffled as to be nearly silent.  Inertia dampeners weren’t uncommon on spacecraft, but they were so expensive as to be all but unheard of on planetary transportation.  That, Victus realized, was why it was so eerily silent within the cabin; even the vibrations of the air molecules inside the cabin were being damped.

“You’ll meet all of them in an hour or so, at the morning meeting.” Leland continued, smoothly.  “There are some things which are best handled in person, and I think having a face-to-face meeting at least once a day helps us operate as a cohesive unit.”  He gave Victus a long-suffering look.  “At today’s meeting, Max will remind me that your presence is a function of security, and will reiterate why you should be under his control.”

“That can’t happen, I’m afraid,” Victus said, infusing his voice with a regretful tone that he most certainly did not feel.

“Don’t worry,” Leland said, forestalling Victus’ objection with a raised hand, “I’m aware of how important it is for you to remain free to do your job without encumberance.   I’ll make certain that you’re under my direct supervision, and won’t have to go through Max.  That won’t be difficult to do, since payment from your services came directly from the Negin’s personal account and not through the house.”

Victus had seen this sort of interdepartmental power-play before and was fully expecting to see it here, in one of Galise’s oldest houses.  “I appreciate your concern,” he said, with as much tact as he could muster, “but to guard the negin effectively I must operate independently.”

Leland stared at him for a split second. “I am personally responsible for everything that occurs within the grounds of House Mal,” he said, coolly, “and that mandates my involvement in your daily affairs.”

“I will see that you are involved,” Victus conceded, with a gracious air, “and I will be pleased to inform you of my activities as much as I am able.  You will be involved,” he stressed, “but you will not have control.”  He favored Leland with a conciliatory smile.  “You do not strike me as a man who misses many details, “ he said, “so I’m more than certain you have read these conditions in my contract.”  Victus felt confident that the majordomo had indeed known of the contract’s contents, but had also hoped that Victus might not be so well informed.   Victus inclined his head to suggest a non-existent apology.  “It is non-negotiable.”

Too well-schooled in tactics to let his annoyance show, Leland smiled.  “I hope your independence will not prevent you from attending the morning meetings,” he said.  “That is where we cement the Negin’s daily schedule, and it would be as beneficial for you to know what we have planned for him as it would be for us to know of your security requirements.”

The doors cracked open with a puff of air,  and Victus’ heart leapt in his chest before he realized that their car was only a few feet off the ground.  With the lack of movement cues, the limousine might still have been a thousand feet off the ground.  This degree of isolation from his environment was more than a little disconcerting.

“Here we are,” Leland said, rising from his seat as the limousine glided to a stop on the landing pad at the front of the mansion.  “Let’s get this show on the road.” He straightened his jacket, and was out the door before the fabric roof covering the pad had fully slid into place above them.  

Victus followed Leland’s cues and entered the great house close behind him, his longer legs easily matching Leland’s no-nonsense pace.  Representatives of the wealthy and powerful often spent hours giving him the visitor’s tour of the property they managed, but Leland wasted no such time.  Victus was thankful that the majordomo had not shown any inclination to paint the household tarts for him.  As a protector, he was far more interested in learning the location of every door, window and trash chute than he was in hearing the history of the brocade wall hangings and where the furniture had been made.  

Leland led them to a simple but elegant wooden door and put his finger against a small biometric reader set into its frame.  “We normally don’t  worry about three-stage authentication inside the house, but this last attempt on Negin Mal’s life has us on a heightened security status.”  he said, not bothering to turn and look at Victus.  Now that they were within what the majordomo considered to be his domain, Victus was being treated more as employee than guest.

“Understandable.” Victus said, cataloging the locations of the poorly-hidden security cameras as they passed.  When he met with Max, he would determine how many of them were real and how many were decoys.  Genuine security cameras were almost never so obvious in an installation like this.

“This is Moira.” Leland gestured to a pleasant-looking woman sitting behind the reception room’s single desk.  “Moira, I’d like you to meet our Kenzine.”

“Pleased,” she said, her eyes remaining on the screen as she entered the last of her data.  When she finished and looked up, the instinctive expression on her face was quickly hidden behind a professional mask.  She extended a well-manicured hand. “Welcome.”

Victus took the proffered hand and clasped it gently.  “Thank you, Moira.  I look forward to working with you.”

“Not what you expected?” Leland asked, unable to entirely hide his amusement at the woman’s discomfiture.  

Moira ignored him and spoke directly to Victus. “You have an impressive presence about you,” she said, as smoothly as if she’d rehearsed the line.  “I’m glad you’re here.  Perhaps you can find whoever has been terrorizing  us and put an end to this foolishness.”

“I will find the culprit as soon as I am able,” Victus said, careful to make no promises. “Thank you for your confidence in me.” He took note of her tact and respected her diplomacy.  This was not the first time his appearance had startled a client or one of their employees.    None had expected to see a six-foot three, gray and white lupine varius arrive wearing the black and red of the Kenzine Order.  As the only varius who had ever risen to protector status, Victus treated the confusion generated by his appearance as just another tool in his professional arsenal.

Leland interjected smoothly, “If you will excuse me, Protector, I will announce your arrival.  Moira will let you know when we’re ready.”  He disappeared through one of the large doors and shut it behind himself with a solid thunk.

Victus set his pack down by the door and waited with patience, which was atypical of a lupine, but characteristic of the Kenzine.  He took a moment to adjust his uniform; the same traditional black cotton garment worn by protectors since their inception, trimmed with red and cut exclusively for function rather than form.  The pants and shirt, still looking neatly pressed even after lengthy travel, were tailored loose to allow free movement.

Without touching his sword, he felt its comforting weight at his side.  The antique katana had been at the forefront of his mind since the day he’d first met his father. The history of the blade was heavier than its folded steel, and even though he didn’t yet know the identities of the men who’d previously wielded it,  he respected their dedication to it.  That their scent remained embedded in the hilt so many years after their deaths spoke volumes about the amount of time they had invested in practice.   The sword was a constant reminder of his father’s trust, of his own honor, and of his importance in the Kenzine lineage.  

A polite buzz from Moira’s desk drew his attention.  She spared a glance at her desk then looked up to Victus.  “They’re ready for you now.  Wait until the door signal is green before pushing it open.”

Victus squared his shoulders and admitted himself through the thick wooden doors.  By their heft, he believed that there must be some sort of armor hidden inside.  Glancing at the doors’ frame as he passed, he saw the thick tips of withdrawn metal bars embedded in the molding.  When it was sealed, the room he was entering would be as impregnable as a vault.

Taking in the rest of the room, his eye automatically found every entrance and exit. A second, more ornate set of doors to his left appeared to be a public entrance opening onto the side lawn.  As his eye swept the room for every potential weapon, it encountered deep red carpet, which color-coordinated with the  to gold-striped, velvet  wallpaper.  The gilt-framed paintings on the wall, which Victus assumed to depict expired members of the Mal dynasty, had probably been quite expensive to commision but looked as if they’d been hung at random.

Horizontal surfaces supported objets d’art as conspicuously as if they were war trophies, leading Victus to wonder how active the Mal house had been in the Contract Wars which had nearly devastated the planet’s economy a century earlier.  The visual clutter in the room was disquieting.   No vertical surface larger than the palm of his hand had escaped embellishment, and such grotesque ornamentation made it difficult for his eye to rest.  The Mals, it would appear, preferred to display their wealth where it could be seen rather than lock it away where it was safe.

He walked to the Negin’s desk, bowed with the respect due any client, and stood silently.  Familiar with his role, Leland spoke.  “Negin Rudex Mal, may I present Victus Entrades, Protector of the Kenzine Order.  He is here to return order to our house.”

The corpulent man behind the desk stared at Victus for a long moment, then turned to his majordomo.  “And they said you had no sense of humor,” he said, sardonically. He returned his attention to Victus.  “You may leave,” he said, imperiously dismissing  the varius with the wave of a hand that looked pudgy and soft.  “Back to your duties, whatever they are.” He turned his attention back to whatever he’d been reading. “When does he get here?”

That Leland had always been quick to answer questions made his current silence conspicuous. Mal looked up from his work and saw surprised annoyance in his majordomo’s eyes.  As if Mal had just walked into the room, Leland repeated,  “Negin Rudex Mal, may I present Victus Entrades, Protector of the Kenzine Order.”

The negin’s poker face slid down to conceal his emotions. “Welcome, Protector Entrades,” he said, not bothering to bow or extend his hand.  “I must speak with my majordomo in private for a moment.”  Again he gestured for the door, but did so this time with a great deal more deference.  “Would you mind?”

Victus nodded and left the room, choosing to stand with his back to the seam of the closed door in the same guarding posture he would have adopted had Mal welcomed him with open arms.  It looked quite proper, and had the added benefit that with his enhanced hearing, he could hear every word they spoke.  It was not eavesdropping; for him not to overhear the conversations of others would have required everyone in the house to converse in whispers.  His abilities would have posed a much greater dilemma had his ethics not been absolute and incorruptible.

The negin’s voice would have been audible had Victus seated himself on the other end of the house.  “Are you fucking insane?”  he spat, infuriated by the Kenzine Council’s choice.  

“Not as insane as insulting your bodyguard when he is standing four meters away,” Leland reminded him of Victus’ close proximity and both men lowered their voices to hushed whispers.  It was a prudent move, but did no good.  Even at their reduced volume level Victus had no trouble hearing them.  He carefully schooled his expression to display nothing to the cameras which he was certain were recording his every move for later scrutiny.

“The Kenzine council was rather vehement about his authenticity,” he overheard Leland assuring Mal. “They provided me with codes, which this man has authenticated.  His shuttle was sealed when it departed his previous assignment at Delandra III and did not open again until he reached the estate. And I must say,” he continued, “the letter of recommendation from his last posting was nonpariel.”

“I guess that means they liked him?” Mal asked, peevishly.  “Sometimes it sounds like you swallowed a gods-be-damned dictionary.”

“It means they thought him without equal,” Leland answered, patiently. “You’re operating in a world where people are well educated, Mal, and they won’t take you seriously if you talk like a servant.”

“Fine,” Mal said, as if tired of this argument, “whatever.  They’re also not going to take me seriously if I bring a huge dog chained to the end of a leash and introduce him as my protector!  Whether or not he really is a protector is beside the point.  I wanted a Kenzine warrior,” he hissed, “not a fucking dog!”

“Trust me,” Leland said, “nobody will be laughing.  The man I spoke to at the monastery said Victus Entrades came with the highest recommendation. From another Kenzine, that means something.  And if you refuse him on the basis of species, it will scar the reputation of the house for God only knows how long.” He growled in frustration, the first sign Victus had witnessed of the man’s true thoughts.  “We have no real choice in the matter,” he said, his anger beginning to show.  “You locked down that decision when you contacted the council on your own initiative.”

“You could have done better?” Mal challenged, “Than a Kenzine?”

Victus could almost hear Leland purse his lips. “I could have found someone locally, someone who knows how to keep his eyes open and his mouth shut. I could have found a small army of someones, for what you paid.”

“We tried it your way,” Mal said, belched, then continued, “and I almost got poisoned.  Besides, it’s not your fucking money so give it a rest.”

“It is my money because it belongs to the house,” Leland said, overtones in his voice telling Victus that he was beginning to lose his temper. “Or at least, it’s my responsibility.”

“Whatever,” Mal said, churlishly.  “You’re just mad because you can’t order him around the way you do everyone else.  It’s good to see you around someone you can’t control, Leland,” he said, softening his voice until it was honey-sweet, “it puts color in your cheeks.”  He guffawed, and Victus could only imagine Leland’s fury.  “Now, get him back in here.”

Victus didn’t move a muscle until the door behind him opened, then he affected mild surprise.  “You have made a decision?” he asked, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.  In truth, he didn’t.  If Negin Mal didn’t wish to avail himself of Victus’ services, there were a hundred others in line after him, most of whom lived on more hospitable planets, who would happily sign a contract.

“I don’t know that you’re the right person for the job,” Mal said, when Victus was halfway across the room. “I was hoping to get someone with…” he looked vaguely uncomfortable, “...more experience.”

...and less fur, Victus thought to himself.  “That is your prerogative,” he said, “but should you decline my services, it will be some time before another can be sent in my place.”

“Which would be a virtual death sentence,” Mal drawled, then stared meaningfully at his majordomo.  “You’re sure about this, Leland?”

“You’re the one who solicited the Kenzines for a Protector,” Leland said, sounding mildly annoyed.  “The house can find you someone, if you’ll just be patient.”

Mal dug in his heels.  “He won’t be a Kenzine, and I need someone now.” He sighed and glared at the lupine standing across from him, obviously disappointed.  “Fine,” he huffed, “just give me the fucking contract.” He turned to Leland. “Get him ready as soon as you can.  I’m tired of being cooped up in the house.”

“Yes, Lord Mal.” Leland bowed his acknowledgement before returning his attention to Victus.  “This way, please?”

The moment the door to the negin’s office had clicked shut behind them, Leland picked up the pace. “Morning meeting in ten, Moira,” he said, not looking at the woman on his way past her desk.

“Thirty,” she said, before he’d escaped her office, “Danny’s stuck at the port.”

“There are too many things going on at once around here to put them all on hold so we can meet at a set time,” he shared with Victus, “we’ve got to get together when everyone’s free.  Sometimes that’s a challenge, but nobody delays the meeting without good cause.”

“I can keep a schedule,” Victus said, “but will the negin?”

“No,” Leland said, briskly, “but that’s nothing new. We’ll just have to meet early enough that he’ll reliably be in bed under one of his whores.”

Victus didn’t care what the negin did in his spare time, he only cared that the man stayed alive. “Who vets the whores?”  

Leland barked a wry laugh. “For performance, or for security?”  He didn’t give Victus time to answer.  “I do.  And then Max does.  Moira checks their credit and references, and Luthor, that’s the house physician, checks them for bugs.  Everyone who has contact with the negin gets checked nine ways from Sunday to make sure they’re safe.”

“And yet there have been four attempts on his life in the past two months,” Victus said. He watched Leland closely for any reaction, but the man gave no clues to his thoughts.

“That is why you are here,” Leland said, stopping  outside a plain-looking door.  “This is your room, he said, opening the door with his thumbprint.   “The negin’s room is next to yours,” he said, pointing to a more elaborate door just down the hall. “There is a common door adjoining your suites, so this door,” he indicated the one he’d just opened, “must remain locked at all times.  If you’re going to be shadowing the Negin anyway, I doubt this door will see much use.”

Victus entered the room and placed his small rucksack on the dresser, to be unpacked when he had time.   Looking around, he saw that there wasn’t much to see.  The quarters were small but clean, the sole luxury being an attached bathroom.   But it was more than ample for his meager needs, and he nodded his approval.  “This is sufficient,” he said.  “I imagine I’ll do nothing but sleep here, anyway.”  He peered into the bathroom to familiarize himself with the layout.

“Apologies for the lack of a proper dryer,” Leland said, sounding mildly embarrassed. “Had we known you were varius we’d have had one installed before today. Inventory shows a portable unit in storage, we just have to dig it out and make sure it works.”

A mellow-sounding gong rang throughout the small space, and Leland immediately turned to leave. “Meeting in five minutes,” he said.  “Let’s go.”

Victus took the statement as an expression of solidarity rather than a command, and followed the majordomo out the door without a backward glance.   Forty minutes later he had met all of the house’s division heads, had watched with interest as Max played the role Leland had predicted, then listened to them argue about the best way to accommodate the negin’s mercurial, and occasionally contradictory commandments, while still seeing to the never-ending needs of the house.  

They stopped talking when his comm buzzed in his pocket.  Pulling the device out, he gave the display a quick look then stood to leave.

“We’re not finished here,” Leland said, testily.

“The negin has signed and registered my contract,” Victus explained, as he moved to the door, “and it takes effect five minutes from now.“ He paused and looked at his comm screen again.  “Correction,” he said, ruefully, “he wanted me five minutes ago.”

“Sit down,” Leland barked, “we need to finish his itinerary.”

Victus did not slow.  He knew his duty, and arguing with the majordomo was not going to change that duty.  

“Come back here!” Leland shouted at the protector’s retreating back.  Victus ignored him, concentrating on remembering the labyrinthine hallways he and Leland had navigated to reach the small office where they’d been sitting.   

Over the majordomo’s abused grumbling, Moira’s voice rang out, clear and vibrant. “Welcome to House Mal!”