by Yakov Merkin
“What do you say you buy me a drink, for starters?” Ayil asked as she pulled the female closer to her and the male. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while. For both of you.”
The male looked over at his companion, who responded with a grin that was part mischievous interest, part alcohol.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ayil said, placing an arm around each of them, and let her hands drift low as she led them to the booth she, Liya, and Dran had just vacated.
Ayil sat between the two Revittans, leaning against the male heavily enough to make herself seem more inebriated than she was, and flagged down a waitress.
“Have time off, or are you just looking for a fun night that you will regret when you have to go back to base in the morning?”
“Let me tell you a little secret,” the male said just after ordering several drinks for them, “unless you’re at the front line in the war or a special forces unit, military service is boring. If they’d told me when I signed up that I’d get sent out to this backwater hole in the ground to basically be glorified police, I’d have stayed the hells away.” He glanced past Ayil, at his companion. “However, there are some benefits.”
The female visibly flushed, and giggled. Well, at least it was obvious which one had a lower tolerance.
“So, what about you, darling?” Ayil asked as she continued to play with the Revittan’s fine hair with one hand. It was really a shame that, with a few exceptions, alien genes for hair didn’t seem to get passed on to Nihluran children; some, like this Revittan, had gorgeous dark hair. “Are you frustrated with your job as well, or is the army life fun for you? What. Are you, anyway, an official model, or a recruiter? I’m sure the sight of you would set the blood of many young males, and some females, aflame with patriotic fervor.” She reached around and ran a finger along the female’s cheek, following one of her curved, blood-red facial markings. The symmetrical, blood-red facial patterns against the otherwise pale Revittan skin really had a striking effect that Ayil had been drawn to since her first encounter with the species.
The female flushed more strongly, and laughed again as she shivered at Ayil’s touch. “No, no, I don’t do either of those. I’m actually in intelligence.”
Ayil gasped in genuine surprise at her luck, but managed to carry that through her flirting and flattery. “Wow, really? So you’re the brains of this couple, then. And a complete package too, beauty and brains.” She turned to face the male again. “Talk about lucky. But who chose who, then?”
“A mutual attraction,” said the female as she took a large sip of her drink. Was she one of those that drank when slightly uncomfortable as a way to relax? If so, this could go very well. Ayil could already smell the alcohol on her breath.
“So what do you do in intelligence, if you don’t mind my asking,” Ayil said, continuing to brush her hand along the female’s face, and up to the tip of her pointed ear. Ayil was more drawn to the male, of course, but both were excellent specimens, and as an intelligence officer, the female was suddenly more important—and her future daughters needed good, interesting genes as much as her future sons did. “Do you know all of our dirty secrets?” She whispered as she drew a finger down the female’s face and neck, only stopping where exposed skin ended and snug uniform began.
The female giggled again. “No, no, we’re not involved in any internal stuff, like the IRSS. We deal strictly in external stuff.” She leaned into Ayil. “Can you keep a secret?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on. “They have my division working on looking into this Galactic Alliance that attacked our space. It’s tough going, as we can’t exactly send operatives in easily, but were learning quite a bit. Stuff about the various species, about their leaders, their technology. Between you and me, I think we’re going to be just fine when this war eventually escalates.”
“Rumor is that we’re gearing up for a major thrust into their space,” the male said, “and some of the guys have heard that we’re going to be combing the offensive with a series of raids on small, weakly defended worlds and colonies, which Ravira’s department has been finding and mapping for us. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to be sent on one of those.”
Ayil laughed loudly, and in a manner that she hoped made her seem at least as drunk as her new friends. “I really did pick well tonight; maybe one day we’ll read about both of your exploits in the histories of this war. And I’ll get to say, ‘I knew them before they were famous,’ in more ways than one.” She slung an arm over the male’s shoulders, pulled him close as well. “Hey, can I ask something. If it’s too secret, you don’t have to, but I’d really be interested seeing anything on the species over on the other side of the galaxy. You know my kind, always looking to try new things!”
“Sure, why not?” The female, Ravira, said, then began to fumble for something in her pocket. “It’s not like that’s sensitive information anyway. We’ve got a partial list, and from that incomplete information on the species themselves, but we’ve got people heading over there to access their public information network, which is as easy to get into as my pants right now.” Ravira laughed again, loudly, as she realized what she had, perhaps unintentionally, said.
“Here we go,” she said as she pulled out her personal computer and held it so Ayil could see. It was very clearly a military issue device. Stealing it would be far too risky, but this was a goldmine.
Then Ravira unlocked it with a simple, four-digit passcode that Ayil memorized easily, then opened up and logged into the intelligence database itself with her own information, which Ayil also quickly made note of. She’d write it down when she had a moment.
“Here,” Ravira said as the male looked over to see as well. “We have the video files from communications prior to the battle, as well as information from intercepted communications afterward. Any time now, we’ll have their entire public database, and more.” She brought up a pair of pictures that Ayil recognized, that of the Tyrannodon Executor Keeneye, and of the Felinaris Admiral Felivas.
“Weird, but intriguing,” Ayil said. “The scaly one looks a bit too severe, but the furry one looks like someone I’d love to get to know, if you catch my drift.”
“They’re the only ones we have images of so fart, but we also know there is at least one other reptilian species, one that looks like giant red birds, and one that breathes fire! But get this,” she went on, “that second one, whose species is called the Felinaris, he’s not only one of their admirals, but he’s married to their navy’s commander in chief, who also happens to be the heir to the throne on her world. And he flew in a fighter in the battle. These people are crazy, and should prove easy to exploit, spirits willing.”
“That’s so interesting,” Ayil said as Ravira put away the device. “I can see why you enjoy your work.”
“She’s not the only one who’s interesting,” the male cut in, resting a hand on Ayil’s leg as she motioned to the waitress to bring another round. It should be enough to get them loose enough while not knocking them out too quickly. “I can get us into a private, restricted area of my base.”
“Ooh, I’ve always wanted to see one,” Ayil replied. “And don’t worry, handsome, I never thought you were boring,” she went on, placing a hand on the inside of his thigh. “The night is young,” she said as the drinks arrived, and freed a hand to pick hers up, “and there’s much more fun to be had.”
She took a small sip as her companions summarily downed theirs. Ravira laughed loudly again. “Yes, fun!” She slouched against Ayil, and her hands began to wander in a pleasant, if distracting manner.
“You said you had a nice, private place for us?” Ayil said to the male.
“It’s not far,” he said, voice slurred, and he rose unsteadily to his feet. “Call me Vrain,” he said as Ayil stood as well, affecting a slightly exaggerated struggle as she helped the suddenly very grabby Ravira up as well.
“Lead the way, soldier,” she said as she swiped her—stolen—payment card on the required station
as they began to make their unsteady way out of the cantina.
As she stepped out the door, Ayil spotted Liya, who had made progress of her own, and appeared too engrossed in her… activities with her target to even notice Ayil leaving.
Ayil wasn’t concerned. Her night was certain to be more fun, and she was absolutely going to be proven the winner come tomorrow.
If she’d known spying could be so much fun, she’d have started doing it years ago; this was already the best questionable job they’d ever taken, and they’d scarcely begun.
CHAPTER 6
High Executor Darkclaw stared out the viewport of his temporary flagship, the Sarcendar, and at his once and future flagship, the Hudecar, which was nearing the end of its repairs and refitting, following its near-destruction and crash landing on Dorandor at the end of the last war.
He had to admit, despite everything he had done to first salvage, then rebuild the ship, a part of him questioned whether he should be preserving the ship, which had been perhaps the greatest symbol of the late High Lord’s might, save for Darkclaw himself. From a practical sense, it of course followed that it should be saved and repaired, as it was also a symbol of his own authority now, and of his people.
It would be a fitting one too, though again it had an uncomfortable link to the High Lord. The new Hudecar only vaguely resembled its former self, the shell of the shattered ship having become the heart of what would be the largest, most powerful ship the galaxy had ever seen, and based on a ship design the High Lord had drafted, but had not lived to see constructed. The upgraded and retrofitted Hudecar would be just over twenty kilometers in length, dwarfing even the largest Snevan dreadnoughts.
Ironically, and both fortunately and unfortunately, the decision to have this ship constructed was more warranted now than it had been when Darkclaw had decided to plot a peaceful course for his people.
War. Again. What he had been created for, risked everything to throw away, and now was thrust into again, and was avoiding as much as he could.
There were several reasons for that, none of which were his new distaste for war. To begin with, he truly was needed here on Voran’dus, to oversee both further settlement construction and to help the Custoratis and Custorellatus, all of whom had been resettled here, settle in and adjust to a radically different life. Second, Executor Keeneye was at least as personally troubled over fighting another war as he was, and, almost paradoxically, the best way to help him manage for now was to keep him occupied fighting that war.
The primary reason Darkclaw had chosen to stay back, to spend time on his own, was one he had yet to properly articulate to anyone, not even to Nayasar or Keeneye.
For what had to be the thousandth time, his mind replayed the events that had taken place on the hollow world, in the Custorellatus palace. He again heard the words of the fallen Scion who had nearly killed him, and saw as clear as day the twisted, monstrous form of the former Scion that had been waiting motionless.
Darkclaw! The shout practically echoed throughout Darkclaw’s office as the memory of both the creature’s shout—and the High Lord’s last word, sliced through him.
But the High Lord was dead, although the corrupted Scions still pledged loyalty to him. What was that thing he’d encountered, which seemed to be far more powerful than even the deadly Scions had been? Some twisted attempt to create a High Lord-like being? An attempt to increase their own power somehow?
More and more, Darkclaw was becoming convinced that they had been deliberately led to that world. True, their presence had prevented the fallen Scions from claiming the relic, and they had been practically wiped out, but there was certainly a secondary goal, to draw out Dalcon, Darkclaw, and Nayasar, an attempt to eliminate some of their most significant adversaries, one in which the enemy had unfortunately had some success.
The new question was how that could connect to the Revittans, and the conflict that their presence on the hollow world had sparked. Could that have all been part of some elaborate scheme, or was it just an unfortunate coincidence? If Nayasar or Felivas were here, they’d remind him that there’s no such thing as coincidence, though that did not necessarily mean that the fallen Scions had somehow been in league with the Revittans, or had some reason to start a war.
And then there was the question of the presence of the Tyrannodon defectors alongside the Revittans. Had they been working with the Scions, the Revittans, or both?
Darkclaw sat down at his desk and stared quietly at the blank, dark gray wall for a time, trying to will himself to understand, to solve the mystery. What was the point of all the intellect he had been granted if he couldn’t figure out what was potentially the most important question he faced?
“I didn’t ask for this,” he said aloud, then replied to himself, “but what I want is irrelevant.” He had to do his duty, had to fulfill the role thrust upon him, his sacred purpose, as the Felinaris might say.
Fortunately, his endless deliberations were interrupted by an alert reminding him that he had to travel to the surface and meet with several Custoratis and Custorellatus leaders. Something else important, and at least a temporary distraction from the bigger problems.
###
A short while later, Darkclaw debarked from his shuttle into the warm, humid air of Voran’dus, and approached the entrance to the massive, walled settlement that had been set up for and by the former inhabitants of the hollow world. As impressive as the development of the planet as a whole since the war’s end had been, Darkclaw could not help but be more impressed by just how much the comparatively primitive peoples had accomplished in a few short weeks. While it was by no means an advanced settlement or town, they had, with some Tyrannodon assistance, erected sufficient housing for all, as well as numerous other necessary communal structures. They lacked the infrastructure, such as an electrical grid, that would have marked it as a “true” settlement, but these people did not have an immediate need for such things. They had taken to operating simple construction machinery remarkably quickly, and between that and their own alien devices and abilities, they appeared to be settling in just fine.
As Darkclaw approached the settlement’s tall, metal and resicrete wall meant to keep out dangerous fauna, the manual gate was swung open, and a small delegation awaited him just inside the entrance.
“Heir of the Creators,” greeted the now familiar King Veilan as he inclined his head, “an honor, as always.” The more taciturn Custorellatus king, Shahan, his ivory-white skin contrasting sharply with Veilan’s space-black, inclined his head in greeting as well, though more deeply than his counterpart.
“To what do we owe the honor?” Shahan asked.
They both knew full well both why Darkclaw was visiting and that this had been a scheduled meeting, but due to the near mythical status they ascribed to him as the prophesied Heir of the Creators, they went further than necessary to show deference and respect. In time, Darkclaw hoped, they would grow out of it, but at the moment, attempting to convince them to act more casually around him was a losing proposition.
Darkclaw nodded in return. “It is a pleasure, as always,” he said, nodding in return. “I am pleased to see that you’re making remarkable progress with construction. Has the process of settling in continued to progress well?”
Veilan nodded. “This world is very different from our own, but also beautiful. We always knew that one day we would need to abandon our original home, and we will successfully make a new one here, together, thanks to your generosity.”
“It is good to be working alongside my Custoratis brothers again,” Shahan added.
Anyone who had not been to the hollow world with Darkclaw’s team would never have guessed that a few short weeks ago, these two peoples had been engaged in a very bloody civil war. That the two species had both managed to make peace and work so closely together with no lingering issues was nothing sort of remarkable. The Custorellatus interestingly did not seem to let their actions while under control of the corrupted Scions
linger with them; though they could not be said to be making excuses. They acknowledged what had happened, what they had done, and apologized for failing to resist the influence of the corrupted Scions sufficiently, but that was it. In a way, their story paralleled that of Darkclaw’s own people. Perhaps there was a lesson in that. There certainly was a lesson for many in the Alliance to be learned from how the Custoratis acted, in general and in relation to their former enemies. If there was any animosity, they hid it well enough that Darkclaw never saw any sign of it. The one time Darkclaw had attempted to ask them how they had managed to so quickly get past their conflict and work together, they’d both been evasive, for some reason, and gave very vague answers that did not truly answer the question. Perhaps they found it difficult to explain to him how and why things had developed as they had.
“There is something I wished to ask,” the Custorellatus said. Considering they lacked the ability of the Custoratis to rapidly learn new languages, the fact that even a few of them could now understand and speak standard was remarkable. Doubtless, their Custoratis cousins had helped a great deal. “Establishing a place for ourselves here has been very rewarding, and I am happy that we have been able to help in our small way to build this world for your people as well. But the debt we have to you, and which we must repay, requires us to do far more. From what I have heard, you are fighting a war now. My people are, if nothing else, warriors, as are many of the Custoratis. We would gladly fight alongside you, to help protect our new home.”
Darkclaw shook his head. “I am very grateful for your offer, truly, and I do not doubt for a moment your drive or your capabilities, but I must decline. There are fewer of your people than there are even of mine, and this war is not yours. You should be focused on building a new home for your people. My position on this may change eventually, but I very much hope that this war is concluded before I need additional support.”