Chapter Three #2
Every dancer I'd known? Amazing in bed.
"This is Tydalos, a protector on Aquanta. His territory includes everything from underwater hot springs to ice baths. All with substantial landmasses and islands. A potential candidate for a mate for anyone looking."
"He's cute," I admitted, "and I can see why someone would consider the program, but this thing isn't me."
Yeah, seeing what Brandon had with Alen tugged at my heart, but something about this whole program felt like it came with strings. Brandon said most Soturi weren't like Alen, but every bit of new information suggested Alpha-male bro dominance.
The general gave me a knowing look while more attractive men appeared from ice to jungle worlds. "Think about it."
"The way you said it tells me you think I'm going to follow orders."
"You will."
"Sounds like a threat," I said, voice cold.
"Not from me."
The explanation came with another hologram: Earth hung in the air with dozens of red dots blinking over the entire planet.
"What's that?" Joel asked, stepping closer.
"Different governments engaged in border skirmishes and troop deployment. All are about to start fighting with each other."
"It doesn't make sense," said Wyatt.
Chase slapped his forehead. "Actually, it does." He turned pale, figuring it out first.
The general frowned further. "You think the world's going to sing Kumbaya because the Volardi are here?
This planet's been divided for centuries, and their arrival ahead of schedule made things worse.
Everyone wants to know who's going to come out on top and get access to advanced technology first."
"They said they were going to share," I said.
"And nobody believes it." He gestured at the holographic map, where red dots blinked along various borders. "The missile from Russia wasn't some rogue act of defiance, but a message. They don't want the Volardi allying with the West, and they're not alone."
Joel frowned. "Countries are fighting over who gets to buddy up with the aliens?"
"Exactly," Westmore said. "China doesn't want the U.S.
to monopolize Volardi tech. India and Pakistan have already escalated skirmishes over who hosts the first trade center.
Even NATO's split. Half of Europe wants the Volardi there, and the rest are terrified.
The longer it goes without them choosing a main partner, the worse it'll get.
Whoever they buddy up with can dictate terms to the others. "
He paused as if he were giving away a secret. "America has two advantages. They love our culture. Television, movies, books, the whole nine yards." He paused, looking at me. "Music too. Planets like Sudo are known as Simulacrum masters. On Earth? Entertainers and storytellers."
"Like with Brandon's show," I said.
The general nodded before continuing. "America, for all its faults, exports a ton of pop culture they adore and..." He stared at me again. "We have a large number of gay men."
The words came out bitter because how else could I say it?
"Glad we're finally useful. Maybe nothing will happen to us now.
" My eyes locked with Brandon's hologram.
The galaxy didn't care who we loved, but we didn't live out in the stars.
Even Maurice looked down, thinking of actor friends in the theater.
His fatherly aura provided comfort to Brandon years back when outed, as well as now.
"For what it's worth," said Westmore, "I'm sorry. There's plenty in my unit over the years, like you, and all I ever care about is if they can serve."
"Like you want me to do." It wasn't a question.
"I do. The Volardi beat us in every technological and logistical area, but they like and need us. It's survival. For us. The planet. Your family."
The way he said it implied more.
Westmore turned to my dad. "Isn't that right, Mister Smith?"
That's not our last name.
Dad scratched his grizzled beard, quietly sipping from a red plastic cup.
"I asked you a question, Mister Smith."
"Don't know what you're talking about."
"Really? You don't think reporters will find out about the DUI or the bar fight in Tennessee? The three-decade-old charges might have disappeared, but you and I both know records don't stay hidden if someone's looking."
I turned to Dad, and the red plastic buckled under his grip. "That was years ago, and nobody got hurt. Not really."
Westmore turned to me. "The press won't see a kid with a fake ID.
They'll paint him as drunk trailer trash pushing every bad Southern stereotype.
The media's desperate. Just like every country's looking to buddy up with the Volardi?
The networks, even online nobodies. They all want to be first with a headline. "
I looked around at my brothers. Joel was practically vibrating with anger, Chase's face under his light brown hair tightened with worry, and Wyatt for once, stayed dead silent. My dad stared down at a faded arm tattoo and wouldn't meet my eyes.
The general straightened. "I can make sure it never happens.
The press, the investigators, and the public attention already happening?
I can make it all disappear. Your dad's past?
It'll stay buried with a government seal.
Your brothers and those they love? No one will bother them.
Your family can go back to Georgia. Famous yes, but living their lives in far more peace. "
He paused, letting his words settle. "Good things can happen for you and them. All you have to do is say yes."
***