by Lexi Ander
That was one incident he was immensely glad that Emperor Valdor had not been present for. He would have lost his mind when Prince Zeus was kicked in the head by a Catalani assassin. In the heat of anger, Emperor Valdor might have declared war on the Dar Massaga since Captain Dargon was the one who decided to kidnap the youngest Vondorian prince, wrongly assuming Prince Zeus was a human pet bedding Prince Azaes. The assassin would not have escaped unscathed either. Everyone knew the Catalani people were on a path to extinction if they did not curb their violence against each other. Emperor Valdor would have been more than happy to help them along.
As it was, the twins only followed. Prince Mestor tapped into his farseeing to pinpoint where they needed to be in order to intercept the Oethra 7. Sohm’lan suspected the mercenaries had followed The Gorgon. Captain Dargon had taken every precaution to keep the psi-tracker off their trail. At the time, no one knew the Oethra 7 was on a mission for the Crown Prince. Years before, the Fal’Amoric had disappeared without leaving a clue as to their destination, taking with them the Bespoken, the one person bound to the Galactic Crown Princes as a part of the future Triumphant. Together the three would take over the Grid’s maintenance when the current Galactic Emperors stepped down. But first, the Bespoken needed to be found, and soon, or the Galactic Imperials would need to find a replacement and Sohm’lan suspected that all eyes would turn to Prince Zeus.
When Prince Zeus was two moons old, he had been found in a Terren science vessel floating in Atlaintician space. When Empress Ashari brought him into the Vondorian family pod, they believed the youngling was human. From that moment on, Prince Zeus became Mar’Sani and the youngest of the royal line. By the time The Gorgon caught up to the Oethra 7, their medical team had confirmed Prince Zeus was not human but Fal’Amoric, and not just any Fal’Amoric, but a sibling to the Bespoken. When they reached Haven Palace on Valespia, Prince Zeus’s DNA would bring him to the attention of the Galactic Imperials, and that was something Sohm’lan would do everything in his power to stop.
Sohm’lan blew hard through his nose, the action giving away his disgust at his roaming thoughts. Prince Zeus was Atlaintician, Mar’Sani. No one in his family would step aside if the Galactic Imperials decided to press him into service to replace the missing Bespoken. As Chief Warlord, Sohm’lan was responsible for protecting the royal family. The question he needed answered was, how?
Shaking himself out of his contemplations, he tapped a claw-tipped finger on Warlord Aspasia’s vidscreen, bringing up the file on the youngest Dire D’Noss. There was almost forty Galactic Standard years between him and the others. “What do we know of this one?”
“That is Kryp Istere’Se.” He accepted the data pad from Warlord Aspasia.
Custom dictated that Dire D’Noss took the surname of their biological parents, meaning Istere was Kryp’s bloodline. The ‘Se indicated Kryp identified as male. The other genders were ‘Ne for female, and ‘Xe for those who did not identify as either male or female.
“We have only conducted light questioning with him. He is the only one who did not demand representation.” Warlord Aspasia glanced up at him. “It is as if he’s waiting for us to ask the right question. I had him first on your morning list.”
“Is he awake?”
She pointed at the cell that was rotating faster than the one closest to him. Competitive to a fault, Sohm’lan thought as he watched the two Dire D’Noss racing each other. “Then I will speak with him now.”
“As you wish,” she replied before issuing orders to one of the specialists.
The interrogation room turned opaque, ensuring the other prisoners could not see who conducted the questioning. Kryp’s cell moved, dropping him into the back half of the divided room.
Sohm’lan exited the command center, walking the short distance to the room. As was protocol, he and the Dire D’Noss would be closely monitored, with guards stationed outside the door, ready to intervene at the slightest hint of danger.
From the cell occupant’s point of view, the glass dome covering the command center, as well as the walkway to the interrogation room, looked like a non-reflective wall of dull metal. He was not surprised the female who had been competing with Kryp had stopped running, squinting at the opaque walls of the interrogation room as if she was attempting to see within. He hoped the privacy would allow the younger Dire D’Noss to speak freely.
Four guards waited outside the room and one opened the door for him. The space was divided by a clear wall, safely separating him from the pirate. Kryp sat on the stool provided, his long, three-fingered hands clasped together on the table. Unlike the other prisoners who had needed extensive medical treatment thanks to Zeus and his small force, Kryp had been mostly unscathed. Though the extensive discoloration on his powder-white skin gave the impression he did not go down easily, the report given to Sohm’lan said differently. Kryp had been apprehended away from the initial fight, caught sending a coded message. The sergeant that Kryp had surrendered to reported that the pirate had set down his weapons before anyone reached him, repeating a series of numbers.
At Kryp’s initial questioning, he had readily given his name and bloodline and when asked, described how the mercenaries gained access to The Gorgon. But he gave no other information and refused to answer more questions. Sohm’lan agreed with Warlord Aspasia, it seemed as if Kryp waited for something.
He sat, considering the code Kryp had recited. For years now, the Dire D’Noss had been going through subtle internal changes. Considering how much younger Kryp was than the other Dire D’Noss captured, Sohm’lan wondered if he was a part of those changes.
For generations, the majority of Dire D’Noss left their homeworld to become mercenaries. For the safety of those under the Valespian Pact, the inhabitants of the planet Sirbolli were not allowed their own military or space fleet. The people were too violent, too destructive to be permitted a force that their leaders would use to conquer other species. The Mercenary Guild was sanctioned by the Galactic Imperials and most of the guild’s jobs were along the borders of Valespian-controlled space, keeping the marauding peoples of other coalitions from delving too deeply into Andromeda Galaxy.
The Dire D’Noss who were left behind on their homeworld typically raised the next generation and ran the planetary government. Those living planet-side were not the weakest of the Dire D’Noss by any stretch, and nowadays they were most often the strongest and most acclaimed fighters. That had not always been the case. In the last fifty Galactic Standard years, a streak of petty vengeance had entered the mating habits of the females of the species. When she wished to mate, she chose her partner, who was usually an excellent warrior, to have strong offspring with. Sometimes, the females were turned down for the simple reason that the male did not wish to mate with a female. Dire D’Noss offspring were fierce and savage from birth, little better than beasts. After weaning at six weeks, the males who rejected the females were handed the offspring and commanded to tame them, making them fit for society. Then the female and whichever male had accepted her would leave the planet and return to the Mercenary Guild.
This new practice of offspring abandonment caused a shift in the Dire D’Noss culture. The offspring shed the names of their biological parents, adopting the surnames of the males who raised them. It was whispered that these newest generations were completely loyal to their planet-bound family. Those who did not obsessively follow Dire D’Noss politics would not even realize a shift was taking place. But Emperor Valdor was aware and made sure his warlords had the latest information on all species covered by the pact. The offworld missions Sohm’lan had been sent on, the Dire D’Noss he interacted with had been the older generations. Seeing the young male with the mercenaries was odd.
If Kryp was not demanding a guild representative…
Sohm’lan pulled up the application for the Council of Neighn. Every world leader had a copy of the fully interactive app without needing to utilize the hypernet, which could be hacked. As the main diplo
matic vessel, Emperor Valdor ensured the application was in The Gorgon’s data system. Sohm’lan used the emperor’s login, navigating to the Dire D’Noss council seat: Seclord Drosl Brouq’yd’Xe. Councilmember Drosl was raised by the Dire D’Noss leader, Overlord Wrik Brouq’yd’Se. The Overlord was someone not only famed in battle but also proven a wise counselor. The Seclord was second only to the overlord. Interesting that the overlord’s most trusted was serving on the Council of Neighn.
Below the picture and background synopsis of Councilmember Drosl was an unlabeled entry field. Sohm’lan entered the series of numbers Kryp had given when taken into custody and waited. He stilled the impatient tapping of his fingers on the table when he received a code back. He had only been following a hunch, not expecting his idea to work.
He put the data pad down, really looking at the male sitting across from him. Kryp’s red and green antennae were curled tight against his skull. His extra-large luminous eyes were not the common variation of yellow that most Dire D’Noss sported but a powder-blue that matched the eyes of the seclord.
“I am Chief Warlord Sohm’lan Myrmidon of the planet Atlainticia.”
“Well met, Chief Warlord. I am called Kryp Istere’Se of the planet Sirbolli.” Kryp smiled but did not show his razor-sharp teeth.
“You gave my officer this code.” Sohm’lan recited the sequence, watching Kryp closely. The antennae relaxed from the tight curl, unfurling a bit but not all the way. Then Sohm’lan read the responding code off his data screen. Kryp’s antennae stood straight up, the tips wiggling excitedly.
Kryp inclined his head, looking relieved. “I have information for Captain Dargon Kal-Turak regarding the Fal’Amoric. The ship we are with are rogues, true pirates, and not operating under the guidance of the Mercenary Guild. It is imperative that he not contact the Galactic Princes. Someone close to the ruling Triumphant is a traitor and my superiors suspect these traitors have access to information sent to both the Galactic Imperials and the Galactic Crown Princes. I am new to these pirates, so they have not shared much information with me, but I have seen them meet with Terrens. I collected some names and scent identities, but I do not know if the information will be helpful.”
Well, that was unexpected. After Sohm’lan had spoken in depth with Captain Dargon about his mission for Prince Malek, he had discussed with the twins the possibility of a traitor in Haven, probably in telecommunication security. Though Captain Dargon believed someone close to the Galactic Crown Princes was a spy, Sohm’lan had originally thought it unlikely since the people with access to the Galactic Imperials were dedicated to the protection of Valespian-controlled space and the maintenance of the Grid. This information from Kryp was more in line with Captain Dargon’s suspicions. Perhaps Kryp had more knowledge than he realized. Sohm’lan settled in for a long interrogation.
Chapter Two
Sohm’lan
* * *
He rubbed his gritty eyes upon leaving the brig’s command center. Though the interview with Kryp gave them better knowledge about the rogue mercenary group working for a Terren company, they were no closer to identifying the person or group betraying the Galactic Imperials and the Valespian Pact. Even the V’Saar they had in custody had given little new information. Sohm’lan could not help but suspect that the bug had found a way around Alpha’s edict to comply with them. It was submissive, sure, but the careful way the bug worded its replies was questionable.
Kryp’s information, on the other hand, did offer greater insight on the Terren component. The Galactic Imperials would deal with them once they reached Valespia. Since leaving Atlainticia, the issue of the missing Bespoken kept coming up, and there was a real concern Prince Zeus would be pressed into service. A substitution had only happened one other time. The Bespoken had died in a tragic accident and one of her siblings had been chosen to take her place. They served for a little over a hundred Galactic Standard years, long enough for the Fal’Amoric empress to give birth to a replacement Bespoken. A new Triumphant was then chosen and trained to take over.
Prince Zeus had bonded to Captain Dargon and his symbiote, Alpha. Sohm’lan was unsure how becoming the Bespoken would change the young prince, but he did know all previous Triumphants were known to be lovers. He would save his waterson, and even that thieving Dar Massaga, the heartache of separation. Prince Azaes and Prince Mestor were already working on a plan. Otherwise, Fal’Amoric royal family or not, they would have headed back home and found a way to lock Prince Zeus—who would protest the whole way—behind impenetrable blast shields. One only needed to recall the vids of how the twins had reacted when Prince Zeus had been kidnapped. Prince Mestor advocated storming the Oethra 7 to reclaim his brother. Sohm’lan was eternally glad he had talked the two out of their rash plans before the Oethra 7 dropped out of hyperspace. Luckily, Captain Dargon had immediately patched Prince Mestor over to Prince Zeus’s comm-link when they hailed the Oethra 7. The captain had no idea how close he and his crew had come to annihilation by the overprotective brothers.
He groaned internally when he suddenly recalled how close Prince Mestor insisted on standing when he counseled the brash twins. His unique scent of sea, scales, and red steel had burned Sohm’lan’s nose. That one wayward thought reminded him why he suffered from insomnia.
For the past summer, Prince Mestor had become increasingly aggressive in his pursuit of a relationship with him. So far, Sohm’lan had successfully ignored the subtle advances, waiting for someone else to catch the prince’s eye. If they were not careful, the noble houses would notice that he circled Sohm’lan as if readying to make a declaration. The unseemly behavior would cause people to draw the wrong conclusion and that Sohm’lan could not allow. Prince Mestor could pick from any of the eligible nobles, and yet, frustratingly, every time Sohm’lan turned around the young bull was there in his space, breathing his air as if daring Sohm’lan to do something about it.
At first, he thought it was an itch the prince was looking to scratch. Sohm’lan was twice Prince Mestor’s age and though he was a bull still in his prime, there was nothing remarkable about him that would explain the attention. The palace abounded with rumors of the princeling’s voracious appetites and sexual conquests. He had no need to hunt for a lover when they flocked to his sleeping platform unbidden.
Unfortunately, Prince Mestor persisted even when Sohm’lan ignored his overtures, a stubbornness he knew all too well. The prince had started sleeping alone and turning away previous lovers who had decorated his sleeping platform like flashy limpets. People noticed, and rumors circulated like a hurricane. Sohm’lan listened as others speculated why the youngest twin now barred his door at night, wondering who had caught the prince’s attention, causing him to eschew all would-be lovers. So far, no one had guessed Prince Mestor pursued him, but that ignorance would only last so long.
When Sohm’lan was selected to accompany the heir apparent to pick up Prince Zeus, he had been relieved. Prince Zeus’s contract with the Imperial Space Station Bashker’Qa had come to an end and they would be bringing him home. Not that Sohm’lan was not overjoyed to see the youngest princeling again… but Sohm’lan needed to put some much-needed distance between him and Prince Mestor. He wanted space to breathe, especially since the princeling had stepped up his quest to lure Sohm’lan into his bed. While Sohm’lan was away, he had hoped someone worthier of Prince Mestor’s attentions would catch his eye. But then, Prince Mestor announced he was coming as well, dashing all Sohm’lan’s hopes.
He should have known better. With Princes Azaes taking over the throne in the next Galactic Standard year, he had been assuming more duties and responsibilities from his father. Emperor Valdor found it hard to keep from interfering and decided he would go to Valespia, leaving Prince Azaes in charge. Empress Ashari would be around if Prince Azaes needed assistance and Emperor Valdor was one vidcall away. But Emperor Valdor was not the only one who would be transitioning out of his position, Sohm’lan would be retiring as his Chief Warlord and
be replaced by Prince Mestor. Sohm’lan would serve another year or so as warlord before retiring completely from service. This trip to pick up Prince Zeus was a test run for Prince Mestor to act as Prince Azaes’ Chief Warlord. Sohm’lan’s responsibility was to mentor and guide, allowing Prince Mestor to assume full command.
Sighing wearily, he strode through the nearly deserted corridors; shift change was hours away and he had purposely taken a little-used pathway. He was exhausted and not in the mood to be stopped for any reason. The sooner he reached his cabin unimpeded the better. He needed every minute of rest he could get before his shift began. Though, he guessed he could have his schedule rearranged, if he contacted the Lieutenant assigned to the Warlords’ Administration, but he had too much to do to take time off.
The barest swish of a tail sweeping against the floor warned Sohm’lan he was being stalked. He gave no indication he heard the sound, continuing at the same pace. Someone was ready to pounce, and all he could feel was irritated. Since the mercenaries had successfully boarded The Gorgon without detection, taking everyone by surprise, the ranks had taken to conducting sneak attacks in order to hone their senses. No one wanted to be caught unawares again. Many were ashamed, believing they had let the Vondorian family down. Though Sohm’lan approved of this new training, he was not in the mood to play.
Summers of training kicked in when his senses warned him of the immediate blow. Sidestepping, he twisted and grabbed the uniform of the bull who dared attack him at this hellish hour. Uncaring how roughly he manhandled the warrior, he shoved the person into an alcove, ready to scare the tail off them. Initially, he planned to assign the bull one of the least desired work details for getting caught… until he registered who stared back at him. Prince Mestor’s gaze was full of mischief and expectation.