The image of Gwynt, even so many light years away, showed the man’s face paling at the news. When his voice came again, it contained only a whisper of the strength Bronsyn knew it normally held. “She grew it? And then wanted it removed?”
“Yes.” The fact that she had been unwilling to initially accept Tsiran’s blessed gift had stunned the quest commander as well. “But it’s not the only indication that she is one of our Protectorates true and legitimate mate. Our warrior believes they share the Mycalyte connection as well.”
“Thought-sharing! Or are they only sharing emotions?” Gwynt’s voice had gone up an octave and another two levels in volume. “Gyed’s veil, do you know what this means? How it will affect the quest program if news of this ever gets out?”
“I do not know their level of connection yet but I can see how this puts a new twist on our mission, old friend.”
The older blonde male scrubbed a hand over his face before looking again at Bronsyn through the connection of their tresls. Even though the two males had been friends as well as colleagues for most of their lives, on this mission Gwynt was Bronsyn’s commander. “There have been some…troubles here that I haven’t yet communicated to you.”
Why did Bronsyn suddenly feel his body tense and have the overwhelming need to cross his arms over his chest as if to shield himself? “Continue, please.”
“There have been some protests about the project on both Galaxia and Nutrol.” Gwynt’s cautious tone warned, Bronsyn and his body tensed even more. “Rallies and gatherings have started which dispute the need to bring female aliens in to help our worlds.”
“On what basis? Everyone knows that we need females in order to repopulate!” Anger shot through Bronsyn’s body like flash-fire. Sending out unmanned droids to seek out and find other planets inhabited with sentient beings had been the finest idea any of their brightest and best minds could come up with as a solution to their problem. A yon later, droid six had sent back streaming images and vids from the small, blue planet in the same corner of the galaxy as the Picari system. Reports and pictures of not only sentient beings but showed images of a species who resembled their own. In Bronsyn’s opinion, both worlds had rejoiced at the news. He did not understand how anyone could have issue with their mission, especially to protest after the quest was underway. “What could they possibly have a problem with?”
“Pure bred, not hybrid. That’s the slogan most dissidents are using,” Gwynt shook his head as he spoke as if to negate the idea. “It’s not so much the brides that the rebellious ones are objecting to. It’s with any younglings they’ll produce.”
“Who started that? The priests?” Bronsyn was almost stuttering in his anger. Even in the sheltered walls of the Galaxian monasteries dedicated to Tsiran, surely they were aware of the need for off-world females in order to save their planets!
“We’ve yet to uncover the source but there are frequent rallies and assemblies to decry the need for ‘alien brides’ to help us reproduce and repopulate. Some are calling it the Galaxian god, Tsiran’s, will or citing it as the Nutrolian goddess Gyed’s judgment that our races die.” Gwynt seemed hesitant to tell his comrade and brother-in-arms of what the talk contained. “There’s even some that are already calling the younglings that would result from such pairings abominations! They do not think outsiders should be allowed to infect our society.”
Bronsyn closed his eyes and allowed his mind to mull over Gwynt’s words although his body was demanding he punch something. To his knowledge, no one had protested during the eighteen merts it took to build the Searcher and prepare for this mission. There had even been celebrations as the starship lifted from Galaxia’s surface. So what had caused the rebellions to rise up in his absence? “I saw no evidence of discord when we launched.”
“You wouldn’t have. But protestors were at the site when the Searcher’s mission commenced, even though it was a small contingent.” Gwynt cleared his throat. “They have since attracted quite a following.”
“Has anyone ascertained who is stirring them up? A leader?” Bronsyn’s mind raced over the different members of the Herald senate when President Allwyne had activated the holograms of the women seeking men from Earth’s internet. To his memory, he could not recall any of the esteemed senators being anything other than mesmerized by what they had all seen. Each had seemed jubilant with the hope those images represented. From what communicated to him, it had been the same for the Nutrolian Committee as well.
“Not to my knowledge,” Gwynt replied with a heavy sigh. “Although it’s still being investigated though not as thoroughly and as swiftly as I would like.”
“How many are involved, do you know?” Bronsyn knew from his experience in the Picari Protectorate, once a protest rally attracted enough participants, warriors would be deployed to maintain safety for both the dissidents and their opposition.
“At launch there were less than twenty-five. Now? The rallies include thousands in every major city on Galaxia. And they’ve even begun springing up on Nutrol although not with as many attending.” Gwynt rubbed his eyes before continuing. “As I said, their platform of pure bred not hybrid is gaining momentum.”
“What is the government’s stance on this? Have they formally made any statements or taken a position regarding the proposed Picari/Earth younglings?” Bronsyn could not imagine President Allwyne agreeing to such misguided thinking, not since the supreme leader of Galaxia had been the biggest champion of the quest.
“Not from either Allwyne or from my own leader, Smyrta. But we probably shouldn’t expect a response, not if the protests remain peaceful and no writ has been submitted for consideration by either of our governing bodies.” Gwynt’s shrug seemed to indicate there was nothing anyone could do in the face of legal demonstrations, even if the ideology behind them was ridiculous. “Plus we’re not even sure if the Picari life force can combine with a human’s egg. Until we are certain, it might all be a moot point. Do you know if your warrior has tried to join with his female yet?”
“I haven’t asked,” Bronsyn replied slowly. Actually, it would have been more truthful to answer ‘I don’t want to know’. Where he came from, no one openly discussed physical intimacy outside of the couple themselves. Although he knew the Nutrolians, as an agrarian society, held a different view. “Also, it must be noted that the majority of the females of childbearing age are encouraged to employ devices and medicines to prevent conception, at least on the land mass where we arrived.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing!” Gwynt shook his head as if to reject the very idea of any species taking measures to prevent pregnancy. “Why would they do that?”
“It’s still under research.” Bronsyn decided not to share what information he had gleaned. Perhaps because he still could not believe it himself. In his experience, no female found pleasure in joining with a male nor actively sought out the experience. However, if he followed the logical line of his investigation, the females of Earth took an active role in the mating process.
Turning his mind away from what he still could not accept, Bronsyn brought up the second reason for his impromptu call. “With the growth of the warrior’s mark, I feel it is important to reveal our mission to Rykhan’s female. Perhaps with her and her friend’s assistance, we can determine a more successful and swifter ways in reaching our mission’s goal.”
“Agreed.” Gwynt replied with a nod. “I will inform the Committee members of my approval and of news that one of our warriors has found his mate.”
“Will you also tell of the female’s wahrom?”
Gwynt’s eyes narrowed and Bronsyn waited, uneasy with how long it took his friend and Committee leader to answer. “I think I’ll hold onto that knowledge for yet a while. In the meantime, see if she will allow you to photographic it and stream it to me. I’d like a chance to study her warrior’s mark.”
Bronsyn swallowed thickly. Why did Gwynt need evidence? Was not Bronsyn’s description enough? As a loyal Picari thou
gh, he could give no other answer other than his normal, “as you wish.”
The conversation rankled long after Bronsyn had signed off. Protests against potential younglings, the future of their race? Females who prevented pregnancy? Pictures needed in order to provide proof of Tsiran’s acceptance of a Picari/Earth pairing.
It was too much to think of at once.
Especially since he had to determine how best to inform Rykhan’s Leah that the man she had been seeing was from another star system. By what Bronsyn had discovered, humans did not like the notion of other life in their galaxy except for entertainment purposes.
How was the female going to react when she learned that her world’s idea of make-believe was actually true?
*.*.*.*.*
“Okay, okay…settle down,” Pam yelled over the cacophony of male voices, using her hands in a downward motion to signal her intent. “One more time, fellas. Give me your name and I’ll help you find the American equivalent.” Pointing to the man standing with an elbow on one of the bookshelves, the one with the darkest skin, which complemented his long, shiny black hair and snapping dark eyes, Pam announced, “You first.”
“Tyshar Rell,” the low grumble proclaimed.
Leah had never heard such deep voices as heard this afternoon at the house.
“Hmm. Ti-shar doesn’t quite…” her voice trailed off as she peered at the ceiling of the large living room they’d adjourned to after the warriors had cooked and then serve a wonderful though simple lunch out in the outdoor kitchen. “How do you spell it?”
The man gave her a blank look and before he could answer, Pam started giggling.
“Don’t worry about spelling it. I got it!” Pam’s eyes took on a smile as bright as the one that lit her lips. “Ty. Okay? We’re gonna pronounce it as ‘tie’.”
“Isn’t that what a male wears around his neck with a suit?” Wyst leaned over her shoulder as he asked his question.
“Yeah? And?” Pam challenged, twisting to look up at the handsome though mouthy man she leaned against. “You gotta problem with that?”
“It’s just you didn’t change my name in the least,” came the reply, offered so softly that Pam knew it was meant for her and her ears alone.
She smiled sweetly, blinking up at Wyst before turning back around and wiggling into his chest. Pam knew she was a grade ‘A’ cuddle-slut who was always happiest when ensconced next to a gorgeous and built man. Meaning that now, she was almost in heaven. “Though it’s spelled different than ‘West’, it’s still a great name. And if Ty’s not objecting, then why should you?”
“Point taken, pixie,” he murmured his mouth so close to her skin that she shivered.
“Who’s next?” she called and the warrior who she thought might be the youngest raise his hand.
“Laxon Satyl.” Dark red crept into the warrior’s creamy countenance while only speaking his name. He was a true redhead and had the beautiful skin to make it work.
“Gosh, another tricky one,” she groaned. “Give me a second to think about it, all right?” Her eyes closed and she silently repeated his name before allowing sound to escape as she worked through the syllables. “Lac-shawn Say-tell.”
Everyone waited as she repeated it like a mantra, saying it repeatedly only adding the accents in different places each time.
Snapping her fingers, Pam sat straight up before speaking. “It’s perfect for you and I know you’re gonna love it.”
The younger yet still brawny man who had quickly grabbed one of the corners in the sectional sofa seemed to hold his breath as he waited for his ‘Americanized’ name.
“From henceforth on, ye shall be known as ‘Sean’,” Pam intoned in as deep a voice as she could manage, which had everyone in the room laughing. Dropping her act, she nodded towards the young warrior with the auburn braid and leaf green eyes. “Do you like it?”
“I do, very much,” he replied with a smile and a deep blink of his blonde tipped lashes.
“Great!” Turning back to Wyst she announced, “I think I may have found my calling.”
“Which would be?”
“Naming people, dude! Geesh, stick with the program, okay?” She was having so much fun Pam felt as if she’d lost her place in the whole scheme of it all. “Wait! Let’s do a recap to see where we are.”
Pointing a finger to where Rykhan and Leah sat eating since they had skipped out earlier and totally missed lunch, she called out, “Ryk”, hearing the other voices in the room echo the word. “Not Ricky, not Richard, but good ol’, plain ol’ American Rick!” Casting her eyes around the men in various stages of relaxation around her, again she called out, “R-y-k!”
“Ryk!” the multi-voiced group yelled.
Pointing a finger over her head and behind her, she yelled, “West! W-y-s-t, Wyst!”
“Wyst!” Their shout was so loud Pam could feel the floor bounce beneath her feet.
Turning her head and shoving a thumb to where the dark hair man stood against the bookcase, she cried out, “Ty!”
“Ty!”
“All right and well done!” She cooed, in a much softer voice. “So who’s this guy again?” Pam’s eyes turned to the last man she’d named, the one whose name had given her so much trouble as she tried to find an American one.
“Sean!” the young man shouted with clenched fists. “I am Sean of the Picari Protectorate. Hear me and be afraid. Be very, very afraid human females!”
Pam blinked as the other men and even Leah laughed at Laxon’s joking. However, to her mind, something about it was just the tiniest bit…off. She knew he meant it to be funny, but a man should never have to warn a woman away by telling her to be afraid, right? And what was that shit about ‘human females’?
She pushed the dark thought away and straightened a bit. “Two last ones, huh?”
“Three if you include Bronsyn,” Wyst corrected from behind her.
Waving a dismissive hand, Pam made a rude noise. “Naw, Bronsyn is a great name just as it is,” and shot a grin to the older man who had just arrived. Seating himself on one of the other sofas, he acknowledged her words with a nod.
“Me! I want to go next,” the largest man of the group bellowed. Sitting on the floor with his back against a portion of the u-shaped sectional, he appeared to be relaxed at first glance. Pam let her eyes roam over the sheer size of him and noticed his tensed jaw and clenched fists. “My name is Arbrynt Llow.”
“Dude, from what I can see, there ain’t nothing ‘low’ about you,” which brought another round of laughter from the group because it was true. Of all the men in attendance, the blonde Arbrynt was both the tallest and the broadest. His features were not classically handsome but were more on the brutish side though there was something about his looks that Pam admitted was definitely intriguing. “Is Brent okay with you?”
A deep nod from the man was all the reply given and she marked him as one of the quieter ones in the group.
She looked to the last of the warriors and cocked an eyebrow. “Last but not least, you are…”
“Gyard Trag,” came the deep rumble that Pam could swear came from around the man’s knees. To her way of thinking, there was bass, then there was baritone, and that guy’s voice was the deepest she’d ever heard.
“Gee-yard…Gee-yard,” she mumbled, staring at the warrior and pulling on her bottom lip as she thought. “We could choose the old-fashioned French name of Gui, I guess, but American women might think of those pajama things the kung fu dudes wear.” She closed her eyes in the ensuing quiet to give her some room to think. Any woman in the world would be hard-pressed to keep her mind on her business with all the hot, huge maleness spread out around her.
“There are a couple of choices, I think,” she said after a time. “There’s Gere, Gareth or even Garth, but I wouldn’t go with that one unless you are seriously into country music.” The men around her blinked and Pam realized that their lack of response indicated a lack of knowledge. Therefore, she moved on. �
�You could choose Gary, Jerry or even a nickname like ‘Yard’ if that tickles your fancy. But whatever name you pick, sorting out your hair absolutely, positively has to be the next order of business, bud.”
“What is wrong with my hair?” The man looked more than a little offended as he brought the longest layer of bright blonde hair over his shoulder and began to stroke it.
Pam tried to think of a nice way of saying what truly needed to be said but finally just gave the truth to him straight. “Dude, your mullet went out of style years ago.” At their confused faces, she continued. “The whole party in the back, with business in the front? It just isn’t cool and will turn most American girls off. Which ain’t the goal, right? So you’re gonna have to bite the bullet and get it cut, big guy.”
More than one gasp resounded around the room and Pam realized she might have overstepped her bounds with her latest suggestion. Weren’t there religions who demanded their converts not cut their hair?
“I like the Gere name,” and Pam saw the warrior’s dark eyes turn to her when he spoke. “And I will consider…” the man swallowed both hard and deep before finishing. “…cutting my locks if it helps me to secure a mate.”
Bronsyn stood and began to step his way over and around the feet and legs of the men who surrounded him, blocking Pam’s view. She sat forward and leaned in order to capture the eyes of Sean. “It’s something you might give some thought to as well. In fact, all of you might want to consider getting your hair styled. And some new threads wouldn’t go amiss either.”
At the blank looks of every man in the room, Pam rolled her eyes. “Guess I need to come with a translator, huh?”
“It would help, beautiful pixie,” came the rumbling rejoinder from the large man sitting behind her.
Chapter Fourteen
As the noise level increased with all the various conversations that sprung up at Pam’s suggestions, Rykhan turned to see Bronsyn moving to where he and his Leah sat. “I need a conference,” his commander murmured.
Rykhan (Book 1 of Mate Search Series) Page 14