Chapter 7 #2
“Because they’re two people who are clearly meant for each other. And because I know Cleo. She loves Rezor, but he hurt her and she got scared. After she finds her footing, and she misses him enough, she’ll come back. Sooner rather than later, I think.”
I turned back to the monitors, checking the transmission status even though I knew it hadn’t changed. I needed a moment to process what Baleck was saying and what it might mean for other situations.
The Raycer ride came back to me unbidden. The warmth of Baleck’s thighs bracketing mine. The solid presence of his body behind me. The way his breath had felt on my neck, rapid in the darkness of the tunnel, slow and steady in the light.
I liked how strong he was. Not just physically, though that was undeniable. But emotionally. Mentally. He felt things openly, without shame or pretense. He didn’t hide behind walls the way I did. Didn’t treat vulnerability as weakness.
And he was open. So open. I never had to wonder what he was thinking or feeling.
His skin broadcast his emotions like a signal beacon, and even when his colors were muted or confusing, his words and actions filled in the gaps.
He found me attractive. That much was obvious.
The way he looked at me. The way his skin warmed when our eyes met.
The way he’d called me beautiful without any hint of calculation or agenda.
I adjusted the monitor angle, pretending to optimize the display while I gathered my thoughts. Then I turned and looked at him.
He was sprawled in the chair, one leg extended, the other bent with his foot flat on the floor.
His head was tilted back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his expression thoughtful.
The posture should have looked lazy, careless.
Instead, it looked like a male comfortable in his own skin.
At ease with himself in a way I’d never managed to be.
Did he think I was his mate?
The question surfaced before I could stop it. Attraction wasn’t common for Destrans without the mate bond. That’s what the briefings said. That’s what Baleck himself had implied. So if he found me attractive, if his skin warmed and his eyes softened when he looked at me, what did that mean?
I wondered how I’d react if he told me. If he looked at me with those amber-gold eyes and said the words out loud. You’re my mate. My true mate.
I didn’t know.
The realization was unsettling. I always knew how I’d react to things. I planned for contingencies, mapped out responses, prepared myself for every possible scenario. It’s what made me good at my job. But this. This was uncharted territory. A variable I couldn’t predict or control.
I truly didn’t know.
“Iris.”
I blinked, refocusing on Baleck. He’d straightened in his chair and was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Do you have a mate on Earth?” he asked.
The question caught me off guard, though it shouldn’t have. It was a natural follow-up to our conversation about Destran bonding. A reasonable thing to wonder about someone you were spending time with.
“No,” I said.
“Did you ever?”
I hesitated. This was personal territory. The kind of thing I didn’t discuss with anyone, let alone someone I’d known for only a few cycles. But something about the way he asked, direct and without judgment, made me answer honestly.
“Yes. But not for long.”
He didn’t push for details. Didn’t ask what happened or why it ended. Just nodded, accepting my answer with that easy grace that seemed to come so naturally to him.
“Would you like to get the evening meal with me?” he asked. “In the communal kitchen? You usually take your meals in your quarters, but the food they make here is remarkable. I think you’d enjoy it.”
I opened my mouth to respond, though I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. Yes? No? Maybe? The uncertainty was maddening.
Before I could form words, the console behind me beeped. A channel was opening. Incoming transmission.
I turned to the monitor, grateful for the interruption even as I felt a strange twinge of disappointment. The screen flickered, resolved, and the face of Admiral Cillon appeared. My superior officer, calling from the relay station that served as humanity’s forward operating base in this sector.
“Agent Larivee,” she said crisply. “We performed an initial review of the data you transmitted. We need to discuss the implications.”
I straightened automatically, falling into the formal posture that years of training had made instinctive. “Yes, Admiral. I’m here with Baleck, the Destran liaison. He was present at the discovery and can provide additional context if needed.”
Admiral Cillon’s eyes flicked to something off-screen, presumably Baleck’s image in her display. “Good. His perspective will be valuable.”
Baleck moved his chair close beside me, positioning himself where the monitor’s camera could capture us both clearly. His skin had shifted to calmer blues, professional and composed.
“The Brakken symbols on the probe are confirmed,” Admiral Cillon continued.
“Our linguistic analysis matches the designation patterns used by their military forces during the war. Serial number indicates it was manufactured approximately twelve years ago, though that doesn’t tell us when it was deployed. ”
“Do we have any intelligence on current Brakken activities?” I asked. “Movements? Communications?”
“Some.” Admiral Cillon’s expression grew more serious.
“After the war ended, the surviving Brakken split into three distinct groups. The first, and largest, settled on an otherwise uninhabited planet in the Outer Rim. They’ve been there for nearly eight years now, building a new society.
Farming. Raising families. Deliberately distancing themselves from their military past.”
“Could they have launched the probe?” Baleck asked.
“Unlikely. They lack the technological infrastructure. When they left, they abandoned most of their advanced equipment. The settlement they’ve built is agrarian, focused on sustainability rather than expansion. Our monitoring suggests they want nothing to do with their former enemies.”
“The second group?” I prompted.
“Smaller. Perhaps two thousand individuals. They opted to work directly with scientists and researchers from several other advanced species, including humans. The focus is on understanding what the lami addiction did to their genetics. Whether the changes can be reversed. Whether future generations can be freed from the vulnerability entirely.”
Baleck shifted beside me. “Where are they based?”
“A research station in the Kallex system. Highly secure. The Brakken there are essentially subjects in an ongoing medical study, though they participate voluntarily. Their movements are tracked, their communications monitored. They couldn’t have sent a probe without our knowledge.”
“And the third group?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.
Admiral Cillon’s jaw tightened. “The third group disappeared. After the war’s end, they refused reconciliation.
Refused assistance. Refused any contact with humans or Destrans.
They expressed deep anger and resentment toward both species, blamed us equally for the destruction of their civilization. ”
“How many?”
“Our best estimate is fewer than five hundred individuals. They scattered into the uncharted regions beyond the Outer Rim, and we lost track of them within months. Occasional reports surface, sightings or rumors, but nothing concrete.”
Baleck leaned forward slightly. “Could they have sent this probe?”
“Theoretically, yes. They would have had access to the manufacturing facilities before their disappearance. Could have taken equipment, supplies, even partially constructed probes with them when they fled.” Admiral Cillon paused, her expression troubled.
“But here’s the thing. Even if they sent it, what could they actually do?
Five hundred Brakken, scattered and resource-poor, lacking support from any established power.
They don’t have the numbers for an invasion.
They don’t have the ships for an assault.
They don’t have the clout to recruit allies. ”
“So the probe is just surveillance,” I said. “Keeping tabs on the Destran home world now that it’s been rediscovered.”
“That’s our current assessment. A faction nursing old grudges, watching from the shadows, but incapable of meaningful action.
” Admiral Cillon’s eyes met mine through the screen.
“However, we’re not taking chances. We’re deploying a network of monitoring satellites to the space around the planet.
Destrani, as it’s being called. Any ship that approaches, any signal that’s transmitted, we’ll know about it. ”
“What about alerting the D’tran leadership?” Baleck asked. “They should know about potential threats to their planet.”
Admiral Cillon shook her head. “Negative. The D’tran are dealing with massive societal upheaval right now.
The storms ending, their isolation breaking, other species arriving on their world for the first time in centuries.
Adding a potential Brakken threat to that mix could destabilize their government, create panic, undermine the diplomatic progress that’s been made. ”
I understood the logic, even if I didn’t entirely agree with it. Information was power, and withholding it from allies was always a risk. But the Admiral had access to intelligence I didn’t. If she judged the D’tran too fragile for this knowledge, I had to trust that assessment.
“You want us to keep this between ourselves,” I said.
“For now. Continue your work as diplomatic liaisons. Monitor the situation on the ground. Report anything unusual through secure channels.” Admiral Cillon’s gaze shifted between Baleck and me.
“And stay aware. Just because the third faction can’t launch an invasion doesn’t mean they can’t cause trouble in other ways. ”
“Understood,” I said.
“Larivee. One more thing.” Admiral Cillon’s expression softened slightly. “Good work out there. Both of you. The documentation was thorough. The analysis sound. Whatever happens next, we’re better prepared because of what you found.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
The channel closed, and the monitor went dark.
The silence that followed felt different than before. Heavier with implication. The Brakken probe wasn’t an immediate threat, but it wasn’t nothing either. Someone out there was watching. Waiting. Nursing wounds that might never fully heal.
I turned to Baleck.
He was looking at me with that open expression of his, his skin cycling through colors that suggested he was processing the conversation, filing away information, considering implications.
But beneath the analysis, there was something warmer.
Something that made my chest tighten in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely.
“So,” I said. “When are we having dinner?”