Chapter Six
Whiskey River
Hospital machines beeped and hissed around four exhausted sons. Dad lived, but barely. Hours after the biggest diplomatic disaster in history, he lay corpse-still, pale beneath the sterile hospital lights.
A flexible robotic tube snaked from his mouth as his chest rose and fell under a body-hugging stasis field. Volardi medics called it a life cocoon while Human doctors saw a medical miracle. The stab was so deep and severe, he would be dead otherwise.
Even now, he wasn't safe. The Volardi right to vengeance hung over his head.
My brothers sat slumped in plastic chairs, their faces etched with exhaustion and guilt. Wyatt rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "This is on us," his voice was low and raw. "We should've stopped him from drinking."
Chase shook his head. "We tried for our entire lives. None of us could make him stop because he didn't want to."
Joel slammed his fist on the armrest, and a thin crack appeared.
All three had the decency to avoid blaming me.
I never tried to be the favorite, but to Dad, I was 'The Big Shot Hollywood Star and Future Country Music Sensation.' The reality was nothing but movie and television extra work, a few small bar gigs, and agents saying no, because I gave off a gay vibe.
He wouldn't hear it. I was his boy and the one who went out and did great things.
He didn't listen to my three brothers, but he might have to me if I were stronger.
I sat in the corner, away from the rest. My gaze fixed on the faint rise and fall of Dad's chest. "We already lost Mom," I whispered. "Now? Thanks to me," I fought the wave of nausea, "we're going to lose him too."
Wyatt, who didn't know when to lay off the snark, suddenly did. "Dude. Tommy? Come on. Don't put all this on yourself."
"I never said no or stood up to him, not really," I said. "I was scared I'd lose my father. Damn me for not wanting what I saw in other families."
My head pounded so hard I couldn't tell who said it. "He never cared, Thomas. Nobody here does."
Their words slipped over me like water. I only thought of my family, and I destroyed another. A man traveled to Earth and lost both husbands in an instant.
What's going to happen now?
Volardi implants can't read minds, but AI pattern analysis of internal muscles and me looking at the television turned it on.
A muscled, bald Soturi with pale skin, who looked in his late fifties, wore a shimmering green robe. He spoke in clipped, formal tones, speculating on Dad's path from the bar to the event, before slamming his hand against a desk. Video prior to and after the accident played.
At least they had the decency to blur the bodies.
The camera turned to a dark-skinned woman in her forties with short red hair.
"Human actions have caused outrage across the Empire," the anchor's tone was just as solemn as her guest if not new employer.
"The killing of two Volardi, especially a Femeni, has drawn comparisons to the Gloom attacks, a species responsible for previously unseen catastrophic losses in the Empire's history.
Relations are further strained, with prominent Volardi leaders raising concerns about Earth's ability to behave in an intergalactic manner. "
Joel cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Chase stood and turned off the TV, his jaw tight. "This is the type of diplomatic crisis that precedes wars, and Dad is at the center."
A 'Yes, Sir!' muffled through the door before it burst open.
General Westmore strode in with his polished boots clicking against the linoleum floor.
Behind him followed a Volardi Dara with long red hair and bronze skin shimmering faintly under the fluorescent lights. His narrow, purple eyes fixed on Dad.
I stood, and my hands clenched into fists. "What are you doing here?"
The general ignored me, his gaze sweeping over the room. "Your father is stable," he said flatly. "For now, he lives."
Wyatt rose from his chair. "What in the hell does that mean?"
The Dara stepped forward as if he were in charge. "It means his life is a courtesy and one he didn't grant to our people. Per our law, his life can be revoked at any time."
Westmore gestured toward Dad. "The Volardi have agreed to repair the damage.
Their technology can regrow tissue: lungs, stomach, even eyes.
" His gaze flicked to Chase, then me. "Your brother could be a candidate for ocular replacement and bio-enhancement.
Even make sure your father has a working liver. Give your family a future."
"What's the catch?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
The Dara sneered as his implant translated the slang. "You."
Westmore stepped forward, his expression hard.
"Thomas, you've already seen what the Volardi can do.
You know the power they hold, along with the dangers and wonders they can bring.
Right now, Earth is inches from losing everything.
Our sovereignty, our freedom, hell, even our identity.
Fortunately, we have what they like and need. "
Brandon's show and other media made us interesting. Biology meant men like me were the cure. "Somebody to pop out a kid and another, then more. Forever. For the rest of my life," I said.
Westmore paused. "That's a vulgar way to put it, and you'd be more than repopulating. I see a man who used repurposed unfamiliar alien technology to save Brandon, Alen, and your friends. You whistled your way through their defenses. You're more than breeding stock. You're an asset."
"Sounds like another word for tool."
The general's expression darkened. "We all have a role here, including me, and what we do affects others.
Your dad is alive because they allowed it, and he's hanging by a thread.
Zephyron has every right and the power to take his life.
Right now, reporters are eyeing your family, and they won't let up.
You think your brothers will keep their jobs with all this attention?
Their lives will fall apart. The only one who can keep this mess from spiraling further down is you.
Nobody else. You sign up for the program, and I make it all go away.
The charges vanish. The media frenzy gets redirected.
Your family gets to live without being hunted. "
His expression softened. "Don't you want more, Thomas? Or are you going to keep surfing while the world burns?" Westmore leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "Sign the damn papers."
I'd never seen anyone play both good and bad cop, but he was right.
My father lay motionless on the hospital bed, minus his chest rising and falling thanks to alien technology. My brothers stayed silent with faces tight with anger and fear. Only one person could fix this.
Me.
A floating metallic drone opened the door.
The center was a metal ball with one set of red lights over another bigger set, giving it multiple eyes.
Dark purple tentacles ended in lighter purple lights.
Its limbs flailed silently. Laser light drew letters that stayed visible in the air.
Elegant, curved Volardi script shimmered before it morphed into English.
Slowly, I read, "...by signing, you agree to participate in the Omega Repopulation Initiative for the continuation of the Volardi species." The legal jargon blurred together, and the sound of my father's mechanical breathing pounded my ears. Westmore's message, both exact and implied, returned.
'You want him to live? Then sign the damn papers.'
"Will they hurt me?" I asked. Alen had let it slip that while the Empire loved its Femeni, they weren't always treated with respect.
The Dara's jaw tightened. "You dare ask after—"
The general waved his hand, and the doctor stopped. "You won't be harmed. There will be expectations, and your days of surfing for Instagram are over."
"Fine." My voice was barely above a whisper. "I'll do it."
Joel's face twisted in disbelief. "Thomas, no! You don't have to!"
"I do! What choice do I have, huh?" My hands trembled as I stabbed a finger at the floating text. "Do you think they're bluffing? They'll take Dad's life if I refuse!" My voice cracked. "I—I can't let him die. Not like this."
The Dara stepped forward, the contempt in his violet gaze unwavering. He gestured to the drone, and one long, graceful tentacle uncurled from its core with a purple rod at the end.
"This is the Omega Acceptance Probe. It will record your consent and finalize your registration in the program. Once you sign, your DNA will be logged into our system, and the irreversible process for Omegafication will be completed off-world."
The probe hovered closer, and the tentacles twitched.
It felt like standing near a cliff, knowing the only way forward was to jump and hope the landing didn't kill me.
"What else?" My voice shook, despite my effort to keep it steady.
Westmore folded his muscular arms. "The Soturi or Alpha, if you prefer, will take good care of you. The Emperor himself will ensure your well-being."
The screen had a glowing line waiting for my signature.
I reached out, my finger barely pointing. To the side, Chase's face was pale and stricken. Wyatt had his head in his hands, and Joel looked ready to punch someone.
"Thomas," Westmore said softly, with a hint of steel. "Do it. For your father and family."
With a deep breath, I dragged my finger across the line, signed my name, and cemented my future.
***