Cleo
CLEO
It’s a tremendous relief to see Maxym back to his usual self. He is extra sexy in the armor, a cross between a Roman centurion and a cyborg but still my handsome-as-hell gladiator.
If we survive this, I might have to insist on regular armor time…
“The Bogarok have vacated the area, so my security system seems to have worked,” Retah says, studying his vid-screen. “Good thing too, given how much it cost.”
“They’ll be back,” Maxym growls as he slides his sword into a holster between his wings.
I do my best not to add to my already aroused state as I watch him. I’m still trying to understand what it is about pregnant little me which has attracted this huge gladiator. Turning into a puddle isn’t going to help anyone.
“You think so?” Retah asks.
“They’re looking for us,” he says with a chill to his voice.
“Then we need to take action,” Retah says, heading up the stairs to the main dwelling.
Maxym follows him, and I’m shooed up after them by Tibi. When I arrive in Retah’s study, the pair of them are looking at a larger vid-screen which is inset into Retah’s desk.
“The Bogarok have created an exclusion zone around the dome,” Retah says. “They want it for something.”
“For those who follow,” Maxym intones. “What of the rest of Trefa?”
“Sartak is still resisting, obviously.” Retah shifts the view to a stream of messages scrolling over the screen. “Chohan too, but then I doubt the Bogarok have much time to repress that place.
“Artelek? Belen?” I ask, pushing between them.
“Belen has fallen, which isn’t much of a surprise. It’s never been well protected. Artelek has plenty of warriors, so they’re holding out,” Retah says, and a frown appears on his face. “Wait.”
His fingers fly over the screen until the scrolling stops.
“What is it?” Maxym peers at the seemingly frozen piece of tech.
“It’s all fake.” Retah tugs at one of his horns. “There’s no invasion anywhere other than Tatatunga and Sartak. Comms outside have been cut off. The rest of Trefa has no idea what’s happening here.”
“And presumably they don’t really care,” I mutter.
“They will when they find their main trading spaceport has been cut off,” Retah says, scrolling through half a dozen more screens. “But I expect we’re looking at another nova-day or so before it becomes obvious there’s a problem in Tatatunga, or at least one which affects the rest of Trefa in any event.”
“But why cut Tatatunga off? There has to be more to this than we know.” Maxym growls.
“I have my sources,” Retah says, lifting his eyes from the screen, “but you’re right on this occasion, youngling. There has to be more to this than taking the planet, given the planet isn’t taken.”
“Whatever it is they want, they need time, and they are concentrated on the dome. Plus they were looking for fighters, for gladiators.” I put my finger to my lips. “It all has to be connected somehow.”
I give Maxym a searching gaze. He responds with a rather blank look.
“What is under the dome?” I ask.
“The undercroft? It’s a maze of passages filled with pikrats,” he says.
“Anything else?”
“Not that I’ve found,” he says confidently. “But”—his eyes darken—“I wasn’t exactly looking for anything other than violence or solitude.”
“So, conceivably, there could be something down there which might be of interest to those controlling the Bogarok?” I suggest. “If we went to look?”
Maxym thinks, his chin on his chest. “Klynn might know, but he’s most likely already a captive of the Bogarok. The only other Gryn I could ask is Blayn, but he’s off world and I don’t know where.”
“There’s only one way we can find out,” Retah says. “Stick to the original plan, storm the dome.”
Maxym growls in agreement.
“ That’s your plan?” I query, hands on hips. “Just a big old fight to the death against the horrible spider things, which can bite you in half as soon as look at you?”
Maxym looks at Retah, and Retah looks back at him.
“Yes,” they chorus.
I roll my eyes up to the ceiling. “No.”
“No?” Maxym repeats, his voice higher than its usual rasp.
“It’s suicide. I don’t care what you both think of yourselves. Going charging into the path of an army isn’t going to help anyone, let alone Tatatunga, which, frankly, could probably do with a good invasion if it wasn’t Bogarok.” I sigh. “We need more information as to what they want and who is behind this before we do anything.”
Both Retah and Maxym look severely disappointed and the testosterone (or alien equivalent) in the room falls noticeably.
“My mate is correct,” Maxym rumbles.
“I think you’ll find females are always right.” Retah sighs at him. “We ignore them at our peril.”
I’m already shaking my head as I push Retah to one side and start working through the vid-screen.
“What we need is chatter,” I say.
“Cha-tur?” Maxym asks, confused.
“It’s a human term for information you get by listening in to your enemy,” I reply. “We need access to their comms.”
“Not possible,” Retah says. “Even if we could break them, and I most definitely could, their language isn’t translatable by any known source. When they speak to us, they do it telepathically.”
“I remember,” I say grimly. “Only I’m not looking for what the Bogarok are saying to each other, I’m looking for what those in Tatatunga who are helping them are saying.”
Retah drags on a horn again. “Of course! They couldn’t have got past the space port entrance without assistance, or the early warning systems.”
“Trefa has an early warning system?” I bark a harsh laugh.
“It does.” Retah gives me a side eye. “And now you mock it, it also makes me wonder exactly why the arsehole at the end of the universe would have such a thing.”
“Unless it was protecting something,” Maxym rumbles.
“Unless it was protecting something big,” Retah says. “Like a weapon…”