Chapter 24
A Favorite Bar
After the rosy ambience of the Dheltan ship, the Pioneer, Ohiri was too bright in general. Darren, Lero and Blayze were back in their favorite dim bar.
“Now that we’ve reached the other side, the trips seem like a bad dream. I feel like I’ve woken up and am trying to ground myself,” Darren said. He and Lero laid claim to a table while Blayze went to the bar for ale.
Lero wasn’t really listening. “Bless the dimming, I’ve missed this.
Come to Daddy,” he murmured as he reached for one of the chilled glasses of brew that Blayze slid on the table.
He took a sip, smacked his lips, and relaxed in his chair from relief, then surprised Darren by replying, “I, for one, am glad it’s all over. ”
“You are?”
“What are your plans, brothers?” asked Blayze as he pulled up a chair and sat down.
“We don’t have plans. The army has plans. We carry out orders,” snapped Lero.
“Don’t speak to me like that. You’re just in a mood because you miss Kora. We all miss our females,” Blayze retorted.
Darren nodded in approval. He was glad Blayze stuck up for himself. Lero was in the habit of bullying him when life wasn’t going Lero’s way, only because Blayze was the youngest by an hour. Nayli inspired Blayze to have more self-confidence.
Lero frowned. “I don’t miss her,” he groused.
Blayze refused to acknowledge him and eyed Darren. “You, Darren?”
Darren took a healthy gulp of his ale and savored the taste before swallowing. The amber nectar slid down his throat and settled in his stomach, spreading warmth and satisfaction from inside. He set the glass carefully down.
By Yithir, he’d missed this, too.
They hadn’t been allowed to drink while carrying out their duties. There was no drink on the Pioneer (officially, though he suspected Joel had a supply of Ohirin brandy, the best in the galaxy, in his quarters), and Drypso had been so poorly resourced, it amazed him the warriors endured it.
“I’ll ask to leave imperial service and move on, I’ve decided.”
Blayze's face fell. “What will we do without you?”
Darren took large pulls of his drink. “You’ll manage. I know where you are and I’ll keep in touch.”
“Can you do that?” asked Lero.
“I can try.” He finished his ale, raising the glass and tipping his head up to drain the last drop.
Blayze was less accepting than Lero, who nodded as if it was a done deal.
“But what about our girls?” Blayze asked with an anguished look. He hadn’t touched his brew.
Darren was normally patient with Blayze, defending him when Lero was inclined to batter him with words, but the question made him want to shake the harsh reality of life into his little brother.
He locked eyes with Blayze. “They are not ours to keep, or claim. We’ve lost them— correction; they never were ours in the first place. They belong to High Command now.”
“The sooner you get that notion through your thick skull, the better,” added Lero, lifting his glass. Lero had about a third of his ale left.
“I’ll ask Crukugs tomorrow," Darren said with determination.
He did a Lero, sliding Blayze’s untouched glass over to him, lining it up with his empty one. “Are you gonna drink that, little brother?”
Darren entered Crukug’s office. White lights from overhead glared off the metal desk and the lizard’s bronze scales, stabbing into Darren’s eyes like needles.
He stood rigidly at attention. Chin up, he stared straight ahead, arms rigid, hands fisted at his sides.
He was in full dress uniform, his sword at his side.
He’d polished the blade until it gleamed, though it was sheathed at the moment.
Crukugs came out from his desk and prowled in front of him, tail sweeping the carpet in slow, deliberate arcs. His pupils were slits of black in molten gold.
“What do you want, Dheltan? I don’t have all day,” the lizard snapped.
“Thank you for granting me an audience, Commander,” said Darren. “Now that the females from Earth are safely back on Ohiri, I wish to be relieved of my duties and leave the service.”
An outraged silence followed Darren’s request, then Crukugs spoke. “You would turn your back on the empire in its hour of need? You would walk away? You would spit in the face of Ohirins; those that had given you a home when you had nowhere to go?” His silky tone implied insult, hurt, and offense.
It was almost a parody and Darren wasn’t intimidated. “I am truly grateful for everything the empire has done for me, and I will send a letter of thanks to the emperor himself. I will find other ways to serve.”
Crukugs eyed him. Darren’s dress uniform was off-white, nearer to bleached sandstone, the color the emperor had chosen for the services.
He presented a warriorlike image, radiating strength, grace and honor.
The shade suited his coloring, enriched his skin tone and enhanced his hair which was tamed in his usual bun, whereas Crukugs didn’t look good in anything; not with his tubular body and thick neck.
His regular uniform was dull green and didn’t flatter his bronze scales.
Was the commander jealous of the displaced Dheltans, who didn’t have a planet they could call home?
“I’ll have to refer your request to my superiors,” Crukugs bit out.
“When may I expect a decision?”
Crukugs was prowling away, back turned, and he whipped round to face Darren.
“Don’t be insubordinate,” the lizard snarled, hot, fetid breath in the warrior’s face.
Darren didn't react; he knew better. That the Ohirins were reluctant to let the Dheltans go meant something. Dheltans were valuable in some way, or maybe the reluctance was due to the Ohirins needing every man they could get to defend the empire.
The commander straightened up and returned to his seat behind the desk. “Dismissed.”
Darren saluted and turned to go.
“Oh, Dheltan, bring the females to the parade ground where they will be reallocated. Ten hundred hours tomorrow.”
“Var’kai, Commander.”
He exited the room. Crukugs had never liked the brothers since he’d set eyes on them and Darren in particular.
This wasn’t paranoia, his judgement was spot on; he’d made the right call to leave the imperial warriors.
Ohirins like Crukugs regarded Dheltans as inferior beings.
His career wasn’t going anywhere, despite his one hundred per cent loyalty to the emperor.
Delaying joining his brothers in the gym, he went to his own room to write a personal letter. He knew Crukugs reported directly to Emperor Uchantik, and he didn’t trust the commander to put forward his request in positive terms, so he wrote a letter by hand, old school style.
He had to ask around for pen, ink and parchment, since all comms on Ohiri were digital.
He thanked the emperor for granting the brothers asylum on Ohiri, and assured the supreme leader of his undying loyalty, and the real reason for his request: that his heart was broken, that he’d met his fated mate, that they could never be together, and that the only solution was for him to move away to save them from suffering.
He allowed the ink to dry whilst he thought about the best way to seal it from prying eyes. Snooping was the main reason he didn’t send it by the comm system. Security was bound to read it, report to Crukugs, and he didn’t have the seniority to send it encrypted. Crukugs would delete the letter.
The duty sergeant who had helped him with the materials didn’t have wax for a seal, the traditional method of sending a parchment before comms, so Darren made a makeshift envelope, folded his letter small enough to fit inside and stuck it with borrowed glue.
He got a junior officer to deliver it to the Ydis Imperial Palace on the outskirts of the capital.
He didn’t expect anything to come of it; he didn’t even think it would reach the emperor, but doing it gave him some sense of control over his life, temporarily, at least. He felt helpless, and more importantly, he wanted to express his loyalty to the emperor directly, fearing that Crukugs would cast him in a bad light.
Darren and his brothers collected the ten girls from their rooms in the military barracks. They looked pale and wan. Kora and one or two others looked defiant. The sight of Aelanna broke his heart; she looked so sad and defeated. She’d lost weight, and she looked smaller than ever.
They stood on the parade ground, Darren and his brothers and a few Ohirin warriors standing to attention in a line, Crukugs and his top brass opposite them, and the girls huddled in the space between.
The Ohirin sun beat down on them from a blue sky, the heat radiating upward from the dark ground. The Dheltans were bare chested with weapons strapped to their torsos, and swords hung by their sides.
The Dheltans were too hot like the humans, but the lizards enjoyed the heat. Crukugs and his subordinates wore peaked caps which shielded their eyes. They couldn’t smile but they oozed contentment as they soaked up the sun.
Crukugs and two officers inspected the line of warriors before them. Crukugs paused in front of Darren, looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on Darren’s bandaged arm, and swaggered back to his starting position with his officers.
Darren stared straight ahead, not twitching a muscle.
“Attention, warriors,” the commander announced, raising his chin, “we haven’t been instructed how to deal with the females or their proposed destination. They will stay in their quarters under the supervision of Sergeant Othrey until further notice.”
Darren hid his relief. They had a few more days until their fate was decided.
“Captain Darren Tagik and your two brothers, take the females to their quarters.” It was as Darren expected.
The brothers saluted, inclined their heads to the girls, and positioned themselves, Darren in front, his brothers behind and the humans between them.
The party set off for the barracks. Once his back was turned to Crukugs, Darren breathed a sigh of relief though he didn’t relax his marching stance.
“Wait,” Crukugs barked.
Darren stopped as if he’d been shot in the back.
What now?
He turned. His brothers stood to attention, the females in a huddle.
Crukugs moved forward and dragged Aelanna by the elbow from the group.
“Except this one. I’ll keep her for myself.”
Aelanna gasped, but she had no choice but to go with the commander.
Darren’s soul broke. Some ancient instinct of protection, of possession, rose through the pieces and filled him. Aelanna was his.
Mine.
He was like a man walking into a fire he had already accepted would burn him. Slowly, he drew his sword, blade gleaming in the sunlight, and got in Crukugs’ face.
“Brothers, get the females out of the way,” he growled.
He didn’t take his eyes off the commander.
“Commander, she is under my protection.”
Amused, Crukugs delivered his reply. “Protection? From whom? From me?”
“Yes.”
Crukugs’ tail lashed once. “You challenge me, soft-skin?”
Darren was disadvantaged by his bandaged sword arm, but he drew his weapon. “I do.”
Ohirins watched, frozen in place.
Lero’s voice behind him. “Are you sure you want to do this, brother?”
Crukugs threw his cap to the ground and bared his teeth. “Then come, little dusk-creature. Let us see if your bones are as fragile as they look.” He drew his sword.
They circled each other.
Crukugs lunged first — a blur of bronze scales and claws.
Darren didn’t flinch.
Then, he pivoted, letting the Ohirin’s momentum carry him past. His blade snapped up, and scraped Crukugs’ soft throat, but the commander dodged, and the tip stabbed empty air.
The commander staggered, choking, but he didn’t fall. He rubbed his tender skin, fury in his eyes.
Darren crouched, circling the enemy, waiting for him to face him.
Crukugs roared and swung a massive arm. Darren ducked, but the claws grazed his ribs. Pain flared white hot. He dropped to one knee, breath punched from his lungs.
The opponent seized his sword-arm and twisted it. Caught off-guard, Darren screwed up his face in pain and sweat poured off his temples.
Aelanna cried out, “Darren!”
Her voice hit him harder than the blow.
Crukugs loomed over him. “Weak,” he hissed. “Just like your dead world.”
Darren lifted his head, his eyes no longer calm, but blazing with fury.
“No,” he hissed, “I am angry.”
He surged upward, twisting under Crukugs’ arm, grabbing the joint and wrenching. A sickening crunch followed.
Crukugs roared, stumbling.
Darren didn’t give him time to recover.
He struck again — a precise blow to the inner elbow, another to the throat joint, another to the knee.
Crukugs reeled but didn’t fall. His tail whipped around Darren’s throat, choking him, tightening like a noose.
Darren’s vision blurred, lungs seized, and his knees buckled.
He dropped his sword; fighting for breath, he didn’t have the wherewithal to use it. He could only think about his burning lungs.
Aelanna screamed his name.
He heard it.
And something inside him, something he thought had died with Dhelta, ignited.
With a guttural sound he barely recognized as his own, Darren grabbed the tail with both hands and pulled it from his throat.
He dropped his weight and used the Ohirin’s own strength against him, throwing Crukugs over his head. The lizard slammed to the ground with bone-shaking force.
Darren grabbed his sword and raised it, ready to finish the commander off, but hands grabbed him and pulled him back. A taloned hand snatched the pommel out of his hand, and his weapon fell to the ground, landing with a clang.
Darren stood restrained by six Ohirin fighting men. They were too strong for him.
Two Crukugs’ lackeys helped the commander to his feet and brushed him down. Darren steeled himself as Crukugs approached.
“She,” he rasped, “is not yours.” The commander’s spittle landed on Darren’s chin. He took one step back. “Lock him up,” he roared.
Darren’s hands were manacled behind his back, and two Ohirin warriors took him away.
He let them. He couldn’t fight them. They were too many and too strong.