Furu and Xan to return, knowing they
never would.
* * * * *
“Your father is more tolerant than I am.” Captain Grok
relaxed in his silver metallic chair, a tiny cup of rare Balazoid nectar
clasped in his wrinkled hands. The huge viewscreen behind him revealed the
black expanse of space, distant stars sparkling, Viridi ’s solitary sun
to Furu’s back.
Furu sat, facing the elderly military man, his legs crossed,
one ankle dangling limply in the air, his expression conveying carefully
cultivated boredom, his churning emotions smothered under layers of ice.
More tolerant? He stifled his snort, his bastard
father deeming his transgressions unworthy of notice, considering his sons as
replaceable as his breeders.
“If my son had followed your unnatural path, I would have
disposed of the Dreck immediately.” Grok flung the declaration into the chamber
with a malicious glee, his red eyes gleaming.
“I’d like to see you try,” Xan growled, his rash response
threatening to close the opening Furu had been waiting for.
Furu pressed the length of his leg against the warrior’s
hard thigh, silently reminding him of their plan and everything they had to
lose if it went wrong, their female alone and unprotected, relying on them to
eliminate this danger to her, to them, to their future.
“We are banished to No-Man’s Land.” Furu released a delicate
shudder, playing the role of the bored aristocrat, a persona he’d perfected
while unsuccessfully trying to please his father.
“That is a fate far worse than death, I assure you.” Furu
peered at Grok over the rim of his silver-lined cup, his haughty expression
concealing a frustration both Xan and he felt, the one day away from Mirian
stretching into two and then three.
“I welcome the day we complete our assignments and return to Balazoid .” The lies flowed off his tongue.
“You may return alone at any time and the council will
welcome you with open arms.” Grok’s gaze slid to Xan.
“Fuck you and your council,” Xan snapped, returning to their
practiced script, throwing himself into his role as the emotion-driven monster,
playing to the Dreck stereotype. “The day we set foot on Balazoid —”
“That day won’t come. You’ll never again set foot on Balazoid .”
The verme covering Grok’s skull writhed, as bad tempered as their host.
“I’ll see to that.”
“Says the Balazoid also relegated to No-Man’s Land.”
Xan’s top lip curled.
“Captain Grok is overseeing our missions. It’s a noble
post.” Furu placed his hand on Xan’s arm, signaling for him to temporarily
withdraw from the conversation. “Have our findings been processed by your crew?”
Grok’s gaze shifted to Furu. “The planet won’t serve our
purposes.”
“Of course, it won’t,” Furu drawled. “ Viridi is
barbaric and uncivilized, fit only for plants and amani .” The vine
attached to his leg dropped silently to the floor and slinked into the shadows,
undetected by Grok. “I’m shocked the council would send a warrior of your
statue to inquire about it.”
Grok’s chest expanded. “That’s not what I’m assigned to
inquire into.”
“After three endless days, he’s finally telling us,” Xan
grumbled, his voice low and deep.
“I’m telling Furu.” Grok handed his cup to the serving
robot, the faceless machine bowing before the captain. “As your kind doesn’t
know the meaning of honor and loyalty.”
Oh shit. Furu held his breath, fervently hoping Xan
wouldn’t lose his temper completely, putting them all in jeopardy.
The warrior straightened in his seat, his eyes blazing with
heat and fire. “ My kind completes the tasks Balazoids are too
weak to undertake.” He rested his hands on his guns. “Without our specialized
skills, your kind would have lost your foolish war before it began.”
“Only a Dreck would think our war is foolish,” Grok sneered.
Furu set his cup on the robot’s tray, glass clinking against
metal. “What are you
never would.
* * * * *
“Your father is more tolerant than I am.” Captain Grok
relaxed in his silver metallic chair, a tiny cup of rare Balazoid nectar
clasped in his wrinkled hands. The huge viewscreen behind him revealed the
black expanse of space, distant stars sparkling, Viridi ’s solitary sun
to Furu’s back.
Furu sat, facing the elderly military man, his legs crossed,
one ankle dangling limply in the air, his expression conveying carefully
cultivated boredom, his churning emotions smothered under layers of ice.
More tolerant? He stifled his snort, his bastard
father deeming his transgressions unworthy of notice, considering his sons as
replaceable as his breeders.
“If my son had followed your unnatural path, I would have
disposed of the Dreck immediately.” Grok flung the declaration into the chamber
with a malicious glee, his red eyes gleaming.
“I’d like to see you try,” Xan growled, his rash response
threatening to close the opening Furu had been waiting for.
Furu pressed the length of his leg against the warrior’s
hard thigh, silently reminding him of their plan and everything they had to
lose if it went wrong, their female alone and unprotected, relying on them to
eliminate this danger to her, to them, to their future.
“We are banished to No-Man’s Land.” Furu released a delicate
shudder, playing the role of the bored aristocrat, a persona he’d perfected
while unsuccessfully trying to please his father.
“That is a fate far worse than death, I assure you.” Furu
peered at Grok over the rim of his silver-lined cup, his haughty expression
concealing a frustration both Xan and he felt, the one day away from Mirian
stretching into two and then three.
“I welcome the day we complete our assignments and return to Balazoid .” The lies flowed off his tongue.
“You may return alone at any time and the council will
welcome you with open arms.” Grok’s gaze slid to Xan.
“Fuck you and your council,” Xan snapped, returning to their
practiced script, throwing himself into his role as the emotion-driven monster,
playing to the Dreck stereotype. “The day we set foot on Balazoid —”
“That day won’t come. You’ll never again set foot on Balazoid .”
The verme covering Grok’s skull writhed, as bad tempered as their host.
“I’ll see to that.”
“Says the Balazoid also relegated to No-Man’s Land.”
Xan’s top lip curled.
“Captain Grok is overseeing our missions. It’s a noble
post.” Furu placed his hand on Xan’s arm, signaling for him to temporarily
withdraw from the conversation. “Have our findings been processed by your crew?”
Grok’s gaze shifted to Furu. “The planet won’t serve our
purposes.”
“Of course, it won’t,” Furu drawled. “ Viridi is
barbaric and uncivilized, fit only for plants and amani .” The vine
attached to his leg dropped silently to the floor and slinked into the shadows,
undetected by Grok. “I’m shocked the council would send a warrior of your
statue to inquire about it.”
Grok’s chest expanded. “That’s not what I’m assigned to
inquire into.”
“After three endless days, he’s finally telling us,” Xan
grumbled, his voice low and deep.
“I’m telling Furu.” Grok handed his cup to the serving
robot, the faceless machine bowing before the captain. “As your kind doesn’t
know the meaning of honor and loyalty.”
Oh shit. Furu held his breath, fervently hoping Xan
wouldn’t lose his temper completely, putting them all in jeopardy.
The warrior straightened in his seat, his eyes blazing with
heat and fire. “ My kind completes the tasks Balazoids are too
weak to undertake.” He rested his hands on his guns. “Without our specialized
skills, your kind would have lost your foolish war before it began.”
“Only a Dreck would think our war is foolish,” Grok sneered.
Furu set his cup on the robot’s tray, glass clinking against
metal. “What are you
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