Alliance: An Intersolar Alien Romance, Book 6

12

Roav stood in the corner of his shared cell with his arms crossed, staring at Roka Lokurian’s back from across the cell block. The venandi hadn’t stopped hrumming to himself since he’d been tossed in covert holding beneath Renata’s hangar. Every waking moment, the broken commander’s diaphragm vibrated, forcing sound through ragged vocal cords.

Roav had recorded hours of the sound once their batteries had been charged for questioning. At first, he’d been suspicious that the venandi was transmitting something. A distress beacon, maybe. But it had been nothing of external importance, simply the sobs of a broken man.

That morning, sitting across from Arms Master Vindilus Renatex and his new vira, Imani Renatex, Roav had wished biognostics could express their agony in such a way rather than let the heat of shame build to a fever pitch with no way to crumble. The converged human’s eyes alone had pierced him, and unlike biological species, he would have a recording of her potent mixture of triumph and betrayal until the day his code unraveled. She had been right about them—about him—and the revelation wounded her.

Despite all of her accusations and vitriol, Imani Renatex had hoped…

Warm silicone settled on Roav’s shoulder, the palm of Jharim’s hand. He didn’t look at the older biognostic, rather keeping his lenses trained on the venandi as he clawed his way back from reviewing that recording for the hundredth time.

“Roav,” Jharim urged.

Roav’s skull casing blinked in quantum binary, completely engrossed in the venandi’s insanity.

01010111 01101000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100110 01110101 01100011 01101011 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100111 01110101 01111001 00100000 01101111 01101110 00100000 01100001 01100010 01101111 01110101 01110100?

Jharim chuckled, but Roav was serious.

“I do not understand,” he insisted, his partner apparently in the mood to speak aloud. “He does not respond to any external stimuli. Don’t biological species require this? He will deteriorate.”

“He’s lost his vira for the second time. Surely you can understand,” Jharim teased.

“He was caught abetting illegal human doll production in an effort to clone her,” Roav corrected stiffly.

“A vir would do anything to find and protect his other half,” Jharim said, sobering. “Committing treason in her name would be no contest for a man like him. Conviction and desperation are two sides of the same coin. It is how villains are made.”

That pulled Roav from his stewing aggravation with the sharp slice of truth. He met Jharim’s five lenses, and not for the first time, Roav wondered what kind of life his partner of six years had lived before him that he could so clearly see men for what they’d lost. Their demons and despair.

His own despair, in fact.

Is that what Jharim was referencing rather than Lokurian?

Jharim broke their line of sight, returning his highest lens to the rear of his skull casing on its track, keeping an eye on the decommissioned Rosy unit still slumped against the wall after days of being in confinement. He sighed air from the vents in his neck slowly and leaned against the bars of their cell with a tilt in his hips that Roav pointedly ignored.

“You are offended,” the older biognostic observed.

Roav resumed watching Roka Lokurian, the commander’s mangled mandible catching the light.

“It must be painful to hrum with an injury like that.”

“You are offended because you think that I—”

The hydraulics in Roav’s chest whirred, the gears meting out their frustration with a metallic growl. “Why would I worry about your judgment when severing my connection to Unity spared you this?” Roav interrupted.

“Because I have never been with Unity, and I lied by omission. Because you told the arms master things I told you not to reveal. Brother—” Jharim leaned his head forward, imploring with open facial planes that exposed wires and resistors, silicone actuators and valves. “I absolve you of this guilt. What we are and why we’re here is not villainous. We agreed on this before accepting an invitation to Renata, or does your logic core fail you?”

“I spread lies for Councilwoman Guei.” Roav notched his chin at Roka Lokurian. “I am no different.”

“Do you regret it? Accepting her ultimatum.”

Roav’s lenses flared then went dark as his senses short-circuited. There was no malice in Jharim’s tone. The micro laser that sat at the back of Jharim’s left-most lens pulsed with quantum speech, the biognostic native language, at nearly the speed of light, an undercurrent to Jharim’s spoken words that cut Roav deep.

Do you regret saving me?

Roav could never regret it, but regret and guilt were different beasts. When humans were still an abstract, giving in to Councilwoman Guei’s demands had been easy. Hack Commander Atarian’s ship, plant evidence, volunteer for service on the Palembre to keep an eye on the human ambassador, Olivia Atarian. Easy, passive, little oversight. He had come to terms with his sacrifice and wrongdoing without struggle.

But the things he did afterwards burned his components as if doused in acid. Disposing of the dolls that lumbered into colony territory. Building the Rosy unit that had nearly killed Imani James from scraps and dead units at the crash site…

All so they wouldn’t be exposed and removed. It was self-serving and disgusting. Not because he’d done anything particularly heinous, but because Roav saw the beauty in their human contradictions and convictions now. Something Jharim had tried to convince him of for years.

Roav believed him now.

Believed it all.

Humans truly were the Muru, fertility gods of venandi lore that had the power to heal and balance. Or the power to corrupt and consume. The scale fell one way or the other depending on the forces that swayed them.

After being in Renata, Roav believed him. All these years of simply tolerating the zealous beliefs of his ancient counterpart, and here he was. One of the forces that could sway them towards the gift of healing or pain.

Liar.

Traitor.

It was obvious which fate his presence pushed them towards.

When his vision returned, he recalibrated, staring at the floor, the self-deprecating anger fizzling into a cold shiver up his wires as he remembered Jharim was waiting for an answer.

“Guei would have killed you,” he said in a hollow tone.

Another memory that made Roav wish he had the fallible processing unit of a biological body. It would be as sharp as the day it happened for the rest of his life. Jharim sprawled at the steps of the councilwoman’s office, an auto-garrote cracking through his carbon fiber neck, sawing through his fingers, components whining at a high pitch that made Roav understand what it meant to truly bleed—

Jharim pressed his palm to Roav’s chest, a quantum rhythm pulsating between their components. They synced, bit by bit, and the glitches in his vitals deck evened out.

“You didn’t answer my question, brother.”

“I don’t regret it,” Roav admitted.

“But you blame me.”

Roav leaned back on the bars with a sigh. “No. But my code conflicts. Building that thing…” He pointed at the Rosy unit that had masqueraded as the real woman while she was off-world with Lokurian, selling her soul to Guei for a life of luxury. “Eliminating the other dolls as they homed in on the colony. We came here to protect them, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

Roav met the light in Jharim’s lenses with naked fear. “Then I need to leave, brother. Disappear and disconnect. I am not good for them. Maybe neither of us are.”

Jharim’s casing was shorter than Roav’s but more commanding. He reached his hand behind the younger bog’s neck, the sensitive pads of his fingers seeking out a direct connection to Roav’s spinal column. It soothed him, and he shut off all other touch sensors, expanding the effect of Jharim’s warm palms.

“You must balance yourself,” Jharim rumbled. “We still don’t know how the dolls are finding this sanctuary. We need to eliminate whatever beacon they’re following before we consider any other course of action.”

Roav nodded, bowing his head over Jharim’s shoulder.

“Yes,” he said, voice skating through his speakers like gravel.

He wanted to pass the task off to someone else, but whatever beacon was calling the dolls in, it was elusive. Neither Jharim nor Roav had been able to triangulate it or capture its code before it dissipated. A near impossibility for two biognostics. Jharim had even hardwired himself to the slaver’s ship. Day in, day out, racing the code, breaking down trajectories.

Nothing.

If they couldn’t pinpoint it, there was no chance that the others would be able to.

Yes, Jharim was right. They needed to stay. Just a little longer.

Cold shadows like fingers snuffed out the sturdy warmth of Jharim’s hands. “What about my contract?” Roav asked, giving voice to his deepest concerns.

Jharim’s jaw plates cocked crookedly like a grin. “What about it? You are no longer with Unity. You are with me. Perhaps she will try to collect on it, but…” He leaned in closer. “Free will, brother. You have it now.”

Roav held himself still, gazing at the single dent in Jharim’s neck. The one piece of casing he hadn’t replaced yet.

“What if… it is more satisfying to submit?” he purred in a deep tone.

Jharim shifted his lenses, the blue light at the back of each one focused on Roav’s face. He squeezed the back of Roav’s neck, commanding his head closer, their facial plates mere inches apart as Jharim’s seams expanded, ready to devour—

Vrrrrrr vrmvrmvrmvrmvrmmmm…

Both men looked up at the ceiling, bits of dust and crumbling soil blooming around the nicks and crevices from the rough rock. Lokurian blinked against the dust, turning towards the stairs and hatch. They all listened as a heavy vessel—something larger than the colony’s delivery transpos—landed on the tarmac. According to Roav’s seismometer, it was a trans-atmo ship the size of the one they’d arrived on.

Jharim must have come to the same conclusion at the same time because they tilted their heads in tandem.

“A focused operative vessel. Covert elite?” he mused, still holding Roav in place as his face rebuilt itself, hiding away all the black and copper components within.

“Not the last one,” Roav said as they found their own, familiar form of Unity.

“And not Atarian.”

“A different one.”

“Perhaps—”

“It’s mine,” Lokurian croaked, staggering to his feet with wide eyes.

The hatch thunked as heavy as a blast door, then lifted open. Black grass and bits of soil plummeted down the dirty stone steps as a pair of heavy boots descended halfway. Vindilus ducked his red face far enough down to make eye contact with Lokurian, his golden eyes bright. He held up a pair of static cuffs to show the former covert elite.

“Daughter’s here,” the arms master said in his deep two-tonal gravel. “Made it safe and sound. Imani said I had to offer you the chance to catch up.”

Lokurian wrapped his black talons around the bars of his cell, scraping their points against the holoveil that ensured he couldn’t escape. The charged curtain of light sizzled upon impact, leaving scorch marks on his fingers. He stared at Vindilus with big red eyes set in that venandi mixture of matte coal skin and slick obsidian plates, his bright white fangs catching the light where his missing mandible should have hidden them from view.

Jharim withdrew his hand from Roav’s neck and approached their bars.

“You should go,” he told the commander.

Lokurian pressed his hand against his mangled jaw with a snarl, the red glow of his stare narrowing to slits. “I can’t face her.”

“You are her para. You must.”

Lokurian growled viciously. “Do not tell me how to be a father!”

Jharim shrugged. “Then act like one, Commander Lokurian.”

“The bog’s right,” Vindilus said. “Chop, chop, Roka. What’s your choice? Cower or dad up?”

The ex-commander hissed but stood up straight for the first time in days. He grimaced as his plates grated together from where they’d grown out of shape. He brushed the front of his coveralls with shaking talons. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Tell Aelia that I’ll… I’ll be up in a moment. I’m not a coward.”

Vindilus’s head disappeared above, shouting across the tarmac. Roav squinted at Lokurian with confusion.

“Not a coward?” Roav asked. “You nearly condemned an entire species to subjugation because you’re afraid to lose your vira.”

Lokurian winced. “You don’t understand. Any venandi would do the same.”

“But that can’t—”

“It’s true,” Jharim said, crossing his arms. His look was distant again, looking through Lokurian rather than at him. “Loyalty is a venandi’s greatest strength, and most tragic flaw. Vicious as they are, strike the right blow, and they’ll fall like feathers.”

The assessment shivered through Roav’s mind, as dangerous as a prediction.

“Let’s go, big boy,” Vindilus said, descending the steps as he opened the cuffs with his biometrics. Lokurian turned, presenting his wrists at the small of his back. Roav and Jharim watched the two venandi until they were gone, the heavy hatch falling closed again with a thunderous boom.