Cleopatra. Novella

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Theo suddenly summoned Orth to him. When there was a challenge, which consisted of the persistent in the minds of Orth sounding melodies of the long-forgotten hymn of Lakia. The once prosperous state on Faeton, where Orth was the personal bodyguard of the president’s adviser and sunk into oblivion with the disappeared planet of the solar system, Orth lay still in the bed of his apartment with instructions in hand, preparing to begin his duties in the Galactic Coalition of the Representation of the Solar System.

From the unexpected, Orth reached out his hand to a glass of unfinished whiskey and took two sips, feeling the moisture of the refreshing balm pass through the esophagus, and only then did he engage in telepathic communication with the Supreme.

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He did not hear when, to his bed, Cleopatra came up in a white tunic with noiseless steps. As a beautiful statue of the goddess of love frozen statue, she looked at the naked body of Orth’s, only half covered with a coverlet. His trained body with swarthy and strong muscles muscular muscles was emphasized and complemented by a beautiful face profile. Cleopatra stood near the sleeping athletic folded Orth’s, admiring the male body, making sure that, having chosen him, from the monitored personal affairs of Garinov’s team, she was not mistaken in the choice. That with such a man she would be comforts be, and confidently carry out the work entrusted to her by her father. After standing a little longer, she disappeared into the darkness of the bedroom.

And Orth’s dreamed of Cleopatra. The dream, as a reality, led him through beautiful paintings of Love, and waking up in the morning, the captain realized that he had fallen in love, for the first time in his life, and as never before, and none of the many women who had passed through his fascinations and forgotten women’s charms. He got out of bed, regretting that Cleopatra had not come. It was a little annoying to realize this, male pride was infringed upon. And only that he will see her now almost every day, brightened up the wounded feeling of dissatisfaction. With a poor spirit, he set to work on the morning men’s toilet. Kshatr pearled exactly at eleven o’clock in the morning. Unceremoniously opened the door. He came in without knocking. He wore a dark green shirt and dark blue sort’s that reached his knees. Thin, swarthy hands, like two dried-up sticks, protruded from the sort sleeves of a T-shirt, and thin legs peeked out of sort’s. His face, wrinkled, broke into a friendly smile:

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