Chapter Seven
I Drink Alone
The probe emitted a series of beeps, and the holographic display vanished. All tentacles except one retracted with a soft whir. It rested on my shoulder and left a slight sting. The machine floated back toward the Dara doctor.
"Well, that's done," I said, crossing my arms. "At least I can choose someone." I thought of the water world Soturi and his knowing eyes. He'd been pushy, but I could work with that.
The medic and the general exchanged a stare.
"What?" My voice rose, "What aren't you telling me?"
"Maybe," said Westmore, "you should look at your father and remember why you did this. I said good things can happen."
The red-headed medic gestured toward the floating medical scanner, and the holographic display appeared overhead, showing Dad's insides. Slashed muscle fibers wove themselves together, ruptured blood vessels sealed, and long-damaged organs regenerated into healthier, non-muted colors.
"He'll survive," the Dara said curtly. "Thanks to our superior technology, his body is stronger than before. He may live for an additional fifty solar rotations."
Five more decades with Dad was a gift, but what was the catch? "Did you do this just so he can spend more time in prison?"
The red-headed medic's gaze narrowed. "The only imprisonment is the one he creates for himself. Whether he uses this chance to make restitution or succumbs is his choice alone."
An approaching shadow filled the room, as did the man creating it—Zephyron.
My brothers tensed and stood up, ready to protect me again as they did in high school.
One-on-one fights? I was expected to handle myself.
Groups were another thing, as was someone his size. To their credit, they didn't back down.
And they'd lose and cause another diplomatic incident.
The probe spun and shot out three quick energy pulses. My brothers slumped to the floor, not unconscious, but unable to move except for their eyes.
"Hey!" I yelled and stepped between them.
My muscles tensed for a blast that never came.
His fur cloak brushed against me. That's when I noticed a dark smear, wet and red, along the fabric's edge.
My stomach tightened. Was it his or someone else's?
Zephyron's gaze locked on my father. "Do not fear the probe.
No true Volardi would harm a Femeni or Omega," he whispered as he stared at my father.
Mom didn't pass away from a drunk driver, but what if she did?
What kind of hate would Dad carry toward the man behind it?
"Thomas of Earth. We have no word or words to describe your father, only comparisons to monsters from history. With all cultures we learn, and we will have a name for him soon."
He extended his right hand, and the same sword he used last night grew from nothing.
"Wait!" I screamed.
He placed his blade flat against his left palm—perfectly balanced—then handed it to the medic as if performing a ritual.
Then he spoke. Not to me, but aloud, in deep, rhythmic tones that vibrated through the air.
My implant flickered, trying to catch up.
A few words surfaced: honor, union, mourning, sacred trust. Most of the rest stayed untranslated.
The syntax sounded Volardi, but perhaps so old even the implant struggled. I caught more fragments, gestures, and words spoken with reverence and fury. Whatever he recited was an oath. One tied to death and duty, to the ones he lost.
He finished, exhaled, and gave two slight bows.
Not to me. To the space where his mates normally stood to his side.
His sword turned into grey tendrils and faded away like smoke.
Then he unclasped the fur cloak and let it fall, the heavy pelt pooling at his feet.
Whatever function the cloak had served was over now, and nothing more than a terrible reminder.
The drone descended and expelled a sleek, segmented creature—brown and metallic, about a foot long, with bioluminescent ridges pulsing faintly purple.
It didn't slither so much as glide in midair, supported by a field of soft blue light.
It reared up, almost sniffing the air with a set of sensitive filaments, then whipped around, facing my father.
Zephyron's hand blurred as he caught it.
My stomach churned. "What in the hell is that?"
"A way for your father to live," the medic said.
"But you healed him!"
"Indeed." The medic turned to Zephyron, who released his grip. The floating snake-thing darted toward my father's mouth. Dad's throat bulged out as it tunneled in. My father coughed himself to consciousness, his watery eyes fluttering open.
"What did you do?" I screamed.
The medic's expression was calm, almost serene. "The creature will bond to his nervous system and trigger unbearable pain when needed."
"I don't understand."
Dad glanced around and scooted back on the bed from the man who nearly killed him.
The Dara doctor spoke, with ice in his tone, "We are ensuring he cannot take another life."
"I won't! I swear!"
The medic forced a metallic tab against my father's forehead. It ripped out like liquid mercury until it was a band. Tiny hair-like slivers went down under the skin, and his body stiffened.
"What are you doing now?" From the floor, my brothers watched in horror.
"A demonstration."
The hovering probe descended with metallic tentacles carrying a whiskey bottle, and they knew the brand he drank.
Realization came. "I know what you're doing," I screamed. "Please don't. He just woke up, and he's recovering! This is barbaric!"
The medic didn't look at me, but repeated my words, mocking them, "How barbaric was it when he took two lives? One, a Femeni who never had the opportunity to carry life? How barbaric was it when he chose indulgence over responsibility? This is not punishment. It's justice."
Dad's eyes darted wildly, with panic etched into every line of his face.
His hands twitched against his sides as he fought for control.
Slowly, jerkily, like a marionette on strings, his arm rose, and fingers wrapped around the bottle.
Soon it lifted to his lips as he'd done a thousand times before.
"Dad, don't!"
A shot's worth of dark, brown liquid poured into his mouth, and he swallowed. For a single moment, everything was still. A faint shimmer rippled through the room as the drone cast a containment field, sealing us in.
Then he screamed, and the field pulsed in time with the sound.
It was raw, guttural, and inhuman. His entire self convulsed against the sensation, muscles seizing violently as the pain overtook him.
He dropped the bottle, but the whiskey was already inside his throat.
The armored alien snake did its job. His back arched off the bed, and his fingers clawed at the white sheets as veins bulged grotesquely red along his neck and forehead.
His face twisted into a mask of pure agony, and screams echoed within the sterile hospital room.
I lunged forward, grabbing at his arms, trying to hold him still, but his body bucked uncontrollably.
"Stop it!" I yelled, my voice cracking. "Make it stop! You've proved your point!"
The medic watched with his arms crossed. "He will be fine in approximately five of your minutes. The pain is designed to incapacitate, and it will not kill at this stage."
My father's screams turned into hoarse gasps, his body trembling violently as tears streamed down his face. I'd never seen him like this. My father—so strong, so stubborn—was now reduced to this shaking thing.
"Please," I begged, with tears. "If this is about justice, then take it out on me. Punish me! I'll do whatever you want, just leave him alone."
For a moment, Westmore's gaze flickered away.
Zephyron's silence ended. "The crime is his alone," he said firmly. "He is the one to pay."
Dad deserved something, and I don't know where the line lay.
He killed two people, and there was no walking away from that, ever.
Yes, he got drunk, and it would be better if he didn't, but he never got in bar fights, or so we thought.
He stumbled out of Rick's Bar, but always made sure someone drove him.
Didn't he?
Among the shrieks, I asked, "Is there any other way?"
"I could end his existence." Zephyron paused, letting me imagine a life without him.
"No!"
"You love him, and it blinds you. We cannot allow him to harm again."
"Some mercy!"
His shoulders rose. "This is mercy. We do not nurture rot. Our society is built on trust, accountability, and purpose. He will become better, or he will not. The choice is his."
The screams finally subsided, leaving only my father's ragged breaths and the faint machine hum.
The force field also flickered off. His body collapsed slack against the bed, his face had turned pale and drenched in sweat.
For a moment, I thought he'd passed out, but then his eyes fluttered open, glassy.
"Tommy," he rasped. "Get this thing out of me! I can't, I can't live through another attack. I'll do anything they want, but I can't have it hurt me like that."
My chest tightened. "Dad—"
"I promise," he said, cutting me off, his voice desperate and trembling. "I swear I won't drink again. Just, just get it out of me. On your Mother's grave, I swear!"
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Watching him writhe in pain, hearing his screams—it was horrifying, yet it was death otherwise.
Earth tells stories and imagines. The Volardi fix problems. In their eyes, he avoids alcohol, and the danger ends. Put it together, and it was easy to see all this just stopping. No more drinking.
"No," I said quietly, the word foreign on my tongue.
His eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, he looked at me like I was the one who had inserted the snake. "Tommy! For God's sake!"
"No," I repeated. "All you have to do is not drink. That's it. That's all they're asking. If you really can't stop, then this is the only way to keep people safe."
His face twisted in a flash of anger.
I spun so I couldn't see my father's face. That didn't make the new one staring down easier to face. Zephyron watched me closely, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he inclined his head, as though acknowledging something unspoken.
What do you say to the man who nearly killed your father because he lost both his mates?
I glanced at my brothers, who now moved slightly. To my side, Westmore stood with his hands behind his back, waiting.
"I'm sorry for your loss... losses," I said. "Thank you for sparing my father." Even now, Dad screamed for me to do something.
I waited and imagined Zephyron bellowing: 'That's all? Have you no more to convey the tragedy? How can you fathom the pain of losing two? Your pathetic words mean nothing!'
Instead, he nodded.
Westmore spoke. "We'll send a message to Tydalos, so he knows."
Ah, they picked.
My eyes locked with the man who lost his mates, and there were no words, no time to say I was sorry. I don't know how, but I'll do everything I can to make it right, even if I'm light-years away.
"When do I leave for Aquanta?"
"Never," said Zephyron. "Your life is on Sudo, for I am your mate now."
***