Thompson wore blues, more for the illusory protection of the dress uniform's high collar than for any other reason; the rest of his team opted for civilian wear. He thought King looked particularly sharp in the shimmer-cloth culotte outfit she'd had the fabricator make, and almost as soon as their group entered the Grand Ballroom he saw that he wasn't the only one. Several Kins, ranging from almost normal physique to near-starvation gauntness, surrounded her and began an animated conversation. Others started discussions with the rest of his team, leaving Thompson himself momentarily alone.
That didn't last long, however. The Count joined him, accompanied by half a dozen other Kins who she introduced as her Planetary Barons, her Chief of System Security, and the Head Nurse of the Palace medcenter. "And you've already seen Detective Chief Enna Kaufman," the Count finished.
Thompson acknowledged the introductions with a certain amount of discomfort. He wasn't used to associating with the nobility, and it was unsettling for him to feel the restrained hunger they all radiated. The two Security people were in the worst shape, and a moment's thought told Thompson it made sense; their jobs were unlikely to bring them into much contact with people willing to let them feed.
As they chatted about inconsequentials, Thompson had to keep himself from staring at the Kins' mouths, or getting within touching range. The Count had read him all too accurately; while one Kin was relatively easy to resist, seven—two of whom were near starvation—made it an entirely different case, even though they weren't doing anything but stand there and converse. He was far too aware not only of their hunger, but of his urge to satisfy it. How the hell was he going to resist this kind of pressure even for however long the party lasted, much less for weeks or maybe months? He sipped at a drink he'd taken from a passing waiter's tray, wishing for some excuse to leave, but he couldn't think of any. He couldn't even fall back on the Corps' informal motto, because there was no dishonor involved.
"At least your teammates aren't refusing to enjoy what we can do for them," Kaufman said, gesturing as she chuckled.
Thompson turned, to see Sergeant Gottfried—his communications expert—in the arms of a tall, equally Nordic-looking man, her expression almost ecstatic as the Kin's mouth worked at her throat. Nearby he saw Audra, pale but looking pleased, with a petite Polynesian-looking Kin being obviously solicitous of her. Thompson shook his head ruefully, then turned back to his group. "It looks like you have a few more donors, at least as long as we're assigned here." He hesitated, trying to decide whether he should go on, but the Count made that decision for him.
"Go on, Captain. I can see you have more to say."
"Yes, sir." Thompson took a breath, then did so. "As I told Sergeant King, I'd donate myself, as often as I could, except that I'm told that if I do it even once, I'll become a Kin. And that would cost me my career, something I'm not willing to give up."
"More to the point," the Count said, "you think it would cost you your team."