33. Bikar
BIKAR
Opening a holoscreen, I make sure my wings are tucked safely away and my vest is in place before sending my query to the command center planetside. There is not anything I can do about my horns… so I am as prepared as I will ever be.
Several tics go by with no response.
Just as I begin to hail them a second time, the visage of a male uglier than Slavic and larger than Einar appears on the screen in front of me, and it takes every bit of discipline I possess not to flinch.
The male stares at me in silence for several long moments, taking in my altered appearance before he speaks. “What do you want, Bikar?”
This time I cannot hide my reaction. “You know of me?”
His face creases in a terrifying scowl before he barks back. “How could I not? You are the one that has been digging around in our systems for the last several rotations. Rather sloppy of you, really.”
The last thing I am is sloppy, and we both know it.
Which tells me I am not the only being the Aynar made to infiltrate technology.
Cutting the comms, I immediately dive into the mainframes of both the Zenith and Scythe, desperately looking for any sort of malware or virus.
When I find nothing malicious, I add layer upon layer of firewalls around every system I can to protect my loved ones.
The entire process takes me less than a standard human minute.
Launching the holoscreen, I force the connection open between the command center and the Scythe, linking the Zenith in on the sly. Slavic insisted on this before we officially announce our presence to the planet.
His lack of trust in me really should wound me… but it does not. We both know I require supervision in situations such as this.
The same male from before is there, waiting almost nonchalantly, a smirk pulling his lips around his tusk. “How nice of you to join us again, Bikar. Find anything of interest?”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I realize this is not a male to underestimate. “No, I did not. I must admit you have me at a disadvantage. You seem to know who I am, but I do not know who you are. Perhaps you would like to introduce yourself?”
Offering me a sarcastic bow, the male acquiesces. “How rude of me. I am Vornek, and I speak for Viri 9, now known as Rembz. Yes, we all know of you and your brothers—even here we hear tales of your escapades.”
Choosing to ignore his last comment, I lock on the first part of his rebuttal. “I was under the impression a council of peers made decisions for the good of your citizens, so how do you speak for all?”
“I head the council.”
Well… frack. This is not off to such a prosperous beginning. I can hear Slavic and Ruarc cursing me from here.
Forcing myself into my public facade, I chuckle affably. “It is possible that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, so to speak. My family, myself, our mates, and multiple refugees from Deapra wish to request asylum on Viri 9. I mean Rembz.”
Red, bushy eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise before his pale eyes narrow in speculation. “You have females with you?”
This is the part Slavic and I debated on for many rotations of our journey. Neither of us was sure what the best approach to revealing our human mates to the Ruk populace was, so in typical fashion, I decide to rip the plasfilm from the wound.
“Yes, there are several Ruk females with us, including Princess Kallen, but the majority of us are mated to a new species called humans.”
His face flashes with… surprise—and maybe, hope—for a tic before it is a blank slate once again.
“I must say this is one of the most interesting risings I have experienced in some time. Your violation of our privacy aside, I know who and what you all are. Against my better judgment, I will allow you to land. Here are the coordinates to the hangar. Your company is permitted to disembark, but you may not leave the hangar until your threat status has been evaluated. I will not have any of you Brigands causing mischief in my community.”
Vornek cuts the comm connection abruptly, and the screen goes dark.
That could have gone better, but it also could have gone a lot worse.
Forwarding the coordinates to Ruarc and Slavic while simultaneously ignoring his comm pings—I have no need or wish to be berated at the moment—I guide the Scythe through Rembz’s atmosphere, adjusting the controls as the planet’s gravity becomes apparent.
Tapping into the internal comms, I send out a shuttle-wide alert.
“Passengers of the Sycthe, we are breaching the atmosphere on Viri 9, now known as Rembz, and will be landing shortly. We have been given temporary permission to land and will be assessed afterward to determine if we may stay. Please find the closest place to strap yourself in as I initiate the landing sequences.”