* * * * *
I postponed my return to Tiasenne. A month later, Sargon and I were invited to and attended a science convention held in Destria’s Grand Amphitheatre. Even among his older contemporaries, Sargon had already earned respect for his work and found his advice in constant demand. I tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible behind one of the tables, hoping that no one would recognize me in an Orian uniform.
A few of the politicians and scientists knew who I was. One geneticist doing research in the processes of human aging and anti-aging for Beren in particular began an aggressive campaign for my attention, even after I had made it clear that I would not answer any more of his questions. From across the room Sargon saw what was going on.
A moment later, he dismissed himself from a conversation and approached the offensive man from behind, tapping him on the shoulder and whispering a private message in his ear that brought a flush to the man’s cheeks. Stuttering an apology, the man quickly departed.
“What did you say to him?” I whispered, mildly embarrassed as I drew near him.
“Nothing I could repeat.” He admitted unapologetically, then smiled and laughed at my expression.