The Girl from Two Worlds E-Book

Keyla Damaer

• Herausgeber: Keyla Damaer
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

The truth is just another lie.

In a universe of political intrigue, espionage, and the endless struggle for power, a high-ranking officer in the Manderian militia wrestles with personal loss and fracturing family relationships. Forced to work with the woman responsible for his brother’s death, he faces a moral dilemma that could reshape his loyalties and the fate of the galaxy. Will he seek vengeance or forge an uneasy alliance? As the lines between ally and enemy blur, he must walk a path of secrets and deceit.

Join him on a journey where the choices made could shatter his world.

Leseprobe

Contents

Title Page

Part One

Prologue

Chapter One - Draken

Chapter Two - Eleanor

Chapter Three - Draken

Chapter Four - Eleanor

Chapter Five - Draken

Chapter Six - Kaileegh

Chapter Seven - Halazar

Chapter Eight - Kaileegh

Chapter Nine - Draken

Chapter Ten - Halazar

Chapter Eleven - Eleanor

Chapter Twelve - Kaileegh

Chapter Thirteen - Eleanor

Chapter Fourteen - Kaileegh

Chapter Fifteen - Eleanor

Chapter Sixteen - Kaileegh

Chapter Seventeen - Halazar

Chapter Eighteen - Draken

Chapter Nineteen - Kaileegh

Chapter Twenty - Eleanor

Chapter Twenty-One - Draken

Part Two

Chapter Twenty-Two - Kaileegh

Chapter Twenty-Three - Eleanor

Chapter Twenty-Four - Draken

Chapter Twenty-Five - Halazar

Chapter Twenty-Six - Eleanor

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Kaileegh

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Halazar

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Draken

Chapter Thirty - Eleanor

Chapter Thirty-One - Kaileegh

Chapter Thirty-Two - Draken

Chapter Thirty-Three - Kaileegh

Chapter Thirty-Four - Eleanor

Chapter Thirty-Five - Draken

Chapter Thirty-Six - Halazar

Chapter Thirty-Seven - Draken

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Kaileegh

Chapter Thirty-Nine - Eleanor

Chapter Forty - Halazar

Chapter Forty-One - Draken

Chapter Forty-Two - Kaileegh

Chapter Forty-Three - Draken

Chapter Forty-Four - Halazar

Chapter Forty-Five - Draken

Chapter Forty-Six - Kaileegh

Chapter Forty-Seven - Draken

Chapter Forty-Eight - Hertak

Chapter Forty-Nine - Draken

Chapter Fifty - Nevell

Chapter Fifty-One - Kaileegh

Chapter Fifty-Two - Draken

Chapter Fifty-Three - Eleanor

Chapter Fifty-Four - Draken

Chapter Fifty-Five - Jessa

Chapter Fifty-Six - Draken

Glossary

EYES ONLY

Notes

Guide

Contents

THE GIRL FROM TWO WORLDS

BOOK TWO OF

by Keyla Damaer

https://keyladamaer.com

***

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or a used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. I really mean this. Totally not you.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorised use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express permission of the author.

I write in British English. Colour and leant aren’t typos. It’s the funny way Brits spell the words.

That said, even if several set of eyes looked for errors (aka horrors), and despite the great professional editing by Kerry Murphy, you may still find typos. Some kind souls have reached out to me to warn me about them, and I promptly corrected them. You can do the same here: https://keyladamaer.com/report-an-error

Other kind souls who had an opinion about the story have left reviews. I thank them all and you for snatching a copy of this story. Feel free to leave a short, honest review.

Cover art by Jeffrey Kosh

Copyright © 2024 Keyla Damaer

All rights reserved.

***

Once upon a dream ago

PART ONE

Prologue

Araw 2495

Sunneth’s scorching rays pierced the green awning in the bone-dry back yard of the Kossets’s summer home on Mander Prime, but it didn’t penetrate the cold around Draken Kosset’s heart.

7,050,941. The number flashed at the bottom of the screen of his tablet.

Definitive.

Irrefutable.

The ridiculously high number of Manderians born in the year 2443 derived from the Black Squad’s old and incomplete database. The year his brother was born from a batch of damaged eggs that had killed their mother and the other hatchlings.

‘Thank you, Agent.’ Draken scrutinised the stocky silver-scaled spy in front of him, dressed in the standard Draconian black uniform, complete with gloves. An ominous reminder of a dark day in the history of the Kosset family. ‘There was no need to rush all this way for this,’ Draken continued with feigned disinterest.

‘It was nothing, Tal Kosset. I’m sure you’ll make good use of it. I’ll leave you to your guests.’ The spy bowed and departed swiftly, before Draken could reply.

He shuddered as he put the tablet away in his pocket. It was hard to separate rational thought from feelings when he remembered the hover-car accident that had forever marked his life.

Memories of that night fifty years ago when the sedan Draken had been travelling with his family had crashed. Metal screeching on the pavement, smoke choking his lungs, and the flames licking his scales still haunted his sleep, leaving him shivering like a newborn mammal. His fear of fire and guilt over not saving his little brother still tormented him today.

Yet, Delvek Kosset’s body was never found, and as Draken had later discovered, many other children had vanished under similar circumstances when they too were three years old.

The cobweb of lies surrounding the mystery had melted like ice at Draken’s initial enquiries. He’d kept them discrete, because as an honorary member of the Advisory Board and head of security of the Elite Guard—the Director’s personal security detail—he never ran out of enemies, starting from Vice Director Hertak Rogar, the most powerful woman in the Directorate.

Fortunately, his position of power offered him plenty of opportunities to mask his searches as highly recommended exercises to his subordinates for new recruits of the Elite Guard. An order with the suggestion to review deaths among military intelligence and Secret Service operatives, dressing it up as a cost-saving exercise, gave him access to the files of all those operatives. Data analysts then correlated the trends showing him all the information he needed, leaving no trace of his actual intentions for any lurking political opponent.

Soon he would know if Delvek was still alive.

CHAPTER ONE

Draken

Gintor 7, 2495

The jarring noise of the first guests teleporting to the ceremony location reminded Draken he had a duty to welcome them to the family reunion commemorating his late wife, Rotima. An annual recurrence he would gladly do without. The only positive aspect about it was meeting with his children. The two who had survived starvation and war, at least.

Draken fastened the green mourning ribbon around his left biceps as Milvar stepped down from the teleportation platform. Clad in the traditional green mourning dress that matched the colour of her shiny eyes, she ran to wrap her arms around him. ‘Father, I missed you.’ Tall and slender like her mother Rotima, her orange and red scales carried the scent of fresh flowers.

‘I know, Var.’ he muttered, returning a stiff hug.

As she pulled back, she whispered, ‘I didn’t squeeze too hard, did I?’

A genuine grin tugged at the corner of his lips. ‘I’m still breathing.’

Milvar enjoyed joking with him about his reluctance to show affection, especially in public. He fought hard against his natural response to effusions, only to watch her face brightened by a wide smile. Somehow, she made the world a better place.

‘It’s good to see you,’ she said, keeping her hands on his shoulders.

Draken nodded, and gazed around, looking for Milvar’s companion, but there was no trace of her. ‘I thought you’d be in company.’

Her eyes darkened before her lips curled up. ‘You haven’t aged a bit, and with this uniform, you look so dashing.’

The attempt to change the subject didn’t go unnoticed, but before he had a chance to protest, she added, ‘Are you sure you’re not on the prowl?’

He grunted. She chuckled.

How could Milvar make jokes about female-hunting on the anniversary of her mother’s death? ‘This is not the time for such subjects, if ever.’

Milvar pursed her lips. ‘Your private life is not as private as you would like, Father. Your new flames are always in the spotlight.’

It was true he occasionally hooked up with women, and occasionally, they boasted about it with the press.

‘My relationships are exaggerated most of the time. Interacting with a woman doesn’t mean I’m having a sexual relationship with her.’ He wondered where this conversation was headed. As an Advocate General at the Court of Justice, Milvar never used random semantics. She must have something in mind.

‘Ah, well, that means you’re not seeing anyone.’ Her sly grin promised nothing good.

‘Var!’

‘I may have the right match for you.’ Her lips pursed, barely containing a broad smile.

How inappropriate was this conversation going to become before she stopped?

‘She’s here tonight,’ Milvar said.

Before he could reply, another familiar face appeared on the teleportation platform.

Derrin Solac, Draken’s somewhat chubby old friend, strode to them and hit Draken’s right shoulder with his left fist, in the traditional way.

Thankful for the interruption, Draken greeted his friend. ‘Welcome back to Mander Prime.’

‘I wouldn’t miss this ceremony for the life of me. Zamal sends her regrets for not being here, though.’

His history with Derrin and Zamal went back to the time of the Halden and the military academy, a time of innocence, miscalculations, and failure. The time when Draken discovered sex with Zamal. Not something he wished to reminisce about.

Draken left Derrin and Milvar plotting at his back while he greeted the incoming guests—relatives and colleagues of his late wife.

The villa was built on a rather barren piece of land—hard soil where nothing grew. But Draken’s limited time between trips with the Director hadn’t given him time to arrange something better on Agnar, where Rotima had lived before moving to Tau, where she had died.

Soon the incoming guests stopped arriving, and everyone took their places under the awning.

As Draken climbed the stairs to the dais facing the crowd ready to read his speech, noises coming from the teleportation platform stopped him in his tracks. He glanced towards the back of the awning. A couple wearing the grey Manderian uniform with their silver decur pins1 shining bright on their left shoulders stood at the platform.

His son Malik, tall and vigorous, still a boy in Draken’s eyes, towered over the grey-scaled girl who accompanied him. With a build like a concrete wall, Draken could imagine the fun she’d offered as a sexual partner. At least he has a good taste for women.

Their eyes met.

A young man of great potential, carrying both the legacy of his late mother and the weight of Draken’s last name. He should have felt a swell of pride for Malik’s accomplishments, yet the boy’s behaviour rebellious and carefree had the potential to cause significant damage to Draken’s reputation.

Draken turned to face the guests. It was time to open the ceremony. Brief and to the point, he reminisced about Rotima’s greatest moments, the ones not involving any politics.

After his speech, three members of Rotima’s family and two colleagues came in succession up the dais to commemorate her memory, but this whole ceremony represented a waste of precious time. Especially now that Draken had new data about his lost brother.

To him, his failed marriage with Rotima and how it had ended wasn’t a subject to brood over. A wrong match from the start that had made their lives miserable. Her demise had been tragic, especially for Malik, but convenient for Draken, considering her radical ideas about the Directorate and her request for a divorce.

After the last of the orators left the podium, Draken stood to thank everyone when Malik strode to the dais.

Despite Draken informing him of the program, Malik had not sent word about his intention to give a speech.

Because he knew I would object to its content.

When his son’s voice filled the air with the words of Rotima’s last lecture before her demise, Draken’s face paled.

‘As my mother wrote in her paper, the oligarchy of the Directorate is turning into a military dictatorship. And forces supporting the belief that Manderians are superior to other species are taking power within the government.’

Draken gritted his teeth, his gaze sweeping over the man on the dais with contempt. How dare he speak such words? Did Malik believe his superior officers would close their eyes to this kind of dissident behaviour?

Draken’s hand, clenched on his thigh, jolted when Milvar reached for it. He kept it where it was, unmovable, fearing he might crush hers if he held it.

Malik ended his speech. ‘My mother wrote these words fifteen years ago, yet they’re still valid. Perhaps even more so as the Secret Service attempts to control every aspect of our lives with the militia’s blessing.’ He stared at Draken in silent challenge, then continued. ‘The old guard, that is. Some of us will continue fighting for democracy.’ Rotima’s colleagues stood and applauded.

Draken clenched his fists until they hurt, as he walked towards the refreshments, hoping to avoid his son. It was all he could do to stop his hands from grabbing and disciplining him in front of everyone.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. Turning around, he lowered his eyes to a muscular female around his age with sea-green eyes and russet long hair elegantly pinned behind her head. There was something predatory about her, similar to a brotian shark. Just like Zamal.

‘Father, let me introduce you to Centur Jevaire Morran,’ Milvar said.

‘It’s a pleasure meeting you, Tal Kosset.’ Jevaire saluted him, hitting her chest with her left fist, then stood at ease.

The modulated voice gave her an air of confidence no one of her rank would show him under any circumstances, let alone on an occasion like this one.

Draken narrowed his eyes on Milvar. He suspected how this was going to end: Jevaire would try to corner him into a stable relationship and then brag about it to the press.

At least her appearance is a pleasant distraction from my son’s outrageous speech.

‘The pleasure is mine,’ he said, bowing his head. He spotted Milvar tiptoeing away out of the corner of his eye.

Jevaire’s eyes wandered over his body as if evaluating a filly. It was strangely provocative.

‘I know you’re staying in town for a while. Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?’

He frowned. A woman who knew what she wanted might be fun. And a lot of trouble. Trouble he didn’t need in this moment of his life, if ever.

At least she had the decency to invite me out the day after the anniversary of my wife’s death.

Jevaire’s pristine uniform denoted a keen nature. Even her three silver pins seemed to shine brighter. Did he want to get involved with someone so assertive and candid?

The tightness of her uniform suggested a strapping body, and that made up his mind.

Why throw away such an interesting opportunity? ‘That sounds like a good idea.’

‘I’ll book a table at the Sailing Balloon at 2300. See you there. And wear informal attire.’ She winked and spun on her heels, hands behind her back.

‘I told you she was something, Father,’ Milvar said from behind him.

He glanced at his daughter. Malik stood beside her, his arm around her waist.

‘Father.’ Malik bowed his head with a bitter smile. His pitch-black fringe fell over his red eyes. He brushed it back with a quick gesture.

Draken’s eyes burnt with livid anger, but he managed to greet him in return. ‘Where’s your friend?’ he asked.

Malik’s mouth tilted in a lopsided grin. ‘She’s my mate, not my friend.’

Draken’s muscles tensed. Not only had Malik arrived late in the company of his mate—because fiancée was too old-fashioned a word for modern times—but he had mocked him in front of everyone with his speech. Never had Draken believed him capable of such cunning, even though the boy never lost a chance to test him in private.

‘Does this mate of yours have a name?’ Draken breathed through his teeth. Why could his son not show him the respect he deserved?

Milvar interceded to break the tension between them. ‘Her name is Jazzia. Now, why don’t we all have dinner together soon? The three of us, I mean.’

Malik disentangled from her. ‘That would be wonderful, but I’m back on duty in three hours. Next time, perhaps. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. Milvar, Father.’ Malik bowed his head; then left without uttering another word.

***

A scream echoed in the small hours.

Draken sprang forwards in bed and gasped for air, blood roaring in his ears. Hot wind poured in from the open window, bringing scant comfort to his shivering body. Outside, a feeble red light hinted at the approaching dawn.

Wide awake, he brushed back the dishevelled black hair from his face, mouthing meaningless mantras to himself to dispel the lingering tongues of fire’s memory. The flames, a deadly shadow-play on the wall, seared themselves into Draken’s retinas, swaying like demons consuming his mind.

He sat, panting. Digging into the past to find his brother had intensified the sharpness of his nightmares, forcing him to experience the horror of the crash every night.

A horrid electrical whine ringing through the air and drowning out terrified shrieks.

The world turning upside down, over and over.

The crackling of twirling flames raging in his ears, and smoke wreathing him in a suffocating hug.

Naked, he ambled outside onto the ample terrace and regarded the view with blurred vision. In the peaceful dawn, a half-moon hung in the red sky, speckled with fading tiny dots. In the distance, Mander City still slept, but soon it would be filled with his peers rushing from one place to another. It was the capital of a vast empire—the Manderian Directorate—an empire that he had helped become the power it was today. But the thoughts of grandeur didn’t sweep away the nightmare. His pyrophobia had accompanied him ever since the night of the accident. It had caused him years of humiliation and hardship. He had promised himself to never let that happen again.

And yet, he still woke up screaming.

***

The restaurant flew above Mander City night and day; a glistening crystal balloon against the sun and moon. Diners boarded the transport platform in the South-East Sector of the capital. The management didn’t allow the press, and that suited Draken well: no need for the press to stick its nose into his affairs.

His scales itched from the grey funnel jumper with the arm ribs he had donned. He already missed the rough fabric of the uniform. Why am I enduring this endless torture? But the answer was obvious. He missed a cool body to share his bed with. Moreover, he had never dated other women in his field, and Jevaire intrigued him.

Once he boarded, Draken found himself suspended above the capital with nothing but a thick layer of crystal as the only barrier against the pull of gravity. Below him, Mander City’s lights shimmered like millions of flashing eyes staring at him.

A server guided him to a side table illuminated by holographic candles. He sat facing the entrance to spot his date when she arrived. In the meantime, he studied the menu on the tablet offered by the server.

To kill the time while waiting, he ordered a bottle of sparkling Propke, the most expensive wine on the menu, and focused his attention on the last report about the mining colony on Draylon and the plan to attack it to cripple the Coalition’s war machine.

Jevaire arrived ten minutes late. She wore a tight turtleneck, a black bodice zipped on the front, gold-embroidered with vertical zippers and buttons over a black gown. It covered her blue scales like a glove and gave her a hunter’s look.

He set aside his report to focus on the woman before him.

‘I hope you haven’t ordered already.’ She sat and activated the menu.

‘I wouldn’t dare.’ His lips curved up in a lopsided smile. ‘But I ordered wine. I hope you don’t mind.’

She shook her head with an air of innocence. ‘No, not in the least.’ Her loose hair danced over her shoulders.

He filled her glass, keeping eye contact.

Jevaire grinned, then glanced at the menu with her intoxicating sea-green eyes. ‘They serve a delicious oshek steak with uselc salad as a side and a special critotan dessert,’ she said, shutting down the menu. ‘And that fits perfectly with your choice of wine.’

While Draken admired the efficiency of field rations, the opportunity to eat something delicious was a welcome diversion. ‘I wouldn’t dare to choose something different,’ he teased her.

She leant forwards, cupped her chin in her hand, and locked her eyes with his. ‘Trust me, you’ll need the energy later.’ Without dropping her gaze, she lifted the wine glass, parting her lips. When she replaced it on the table, her hand brushed his, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to abduct her to his house and give her a taste of his energy now. He clenched his fist on the stem of his glass, keeping his instincts in check.

This woman was so confident in her own scales.

‘If you’re trying to scare me, understand that you’re not succeeding.’ He sipped from his glass, staring at her.

She leant back in her chair. ‘If I were, Draken, you’d be afraid.’

Draken? We’re already using first names.

Her arrogance, a tasty undercurrent of her flirtatious banter, curled the corner of his lips.

She snapped her fingers and ordered for two.

When the server left, Draken placed his elbows on the table, holding the glass in his hands and savouring each step in this intricate dance of power although for her it seemed more a dance of desire and lust. ‘I hear you work at the Court of Justice as a security officer. Is that how you met Milvar?’

‘Isn’t that on my file?’

‘It probably is, but I didn’t read it.’ A lie, but he enjoyed this game too much.

Jevaire leant towards him, right eyeridge up a notch. The server arrived with their main course, interrupting their conversation and upping the tension between them.

After a few moments, she broke the silence. ‘I understand that Milvar and Malik are your only children.’ Her jaw moved rhythmically as she chewed her food, her full lips seemed to invite him to feed on her.

There was enough information about his family in the news that everybody could find that data without too much digging. Besides, Milvar must have told her. But the conversation was stepping too close to something boringly familiar: marriage. On a first date, it was rather disappointing.

‘They are.’

She grinned. ‘And you never considered having more?’

Why did the younger generations feel the need to be so open about every subject, even the most intimate ones? Now that he thought of it, age couldn’t be the reason. Rotima had been as outspoken as this woman during her last days, and Jevaire wasn’t much younger than him.

‘I’m afraid marriage doesn’t suit me.’

Jevaire took a sip of her wine, her eyes steady on Draken. ‘I wasn’t talking about marriage. With modern techniques, males aren’t even necessary for procreation.’ She chewed her last piece of steak.

Draken swallowed his last morsel of oshek steak, leaning back in his seat. ‘Science can’t replicate seed. Males are still necessary.’

She dabbed her mouth with the napkin and pursed her lips. ‘Point taken, but I’m not interested in marriage either. I believe we want the same thing.’

Draken raised an eyeridge, intrigued again. Perhaps this wasn’t going where he feared. ‘And what is it you think I want, Jevaire?’

A sultry smile graced her lips as she leant closer, her voice low and seductive. ‘To mate with me, of course.’

Draken replied in a hoarse voice. ‘I won’t deny it.’

‘Good.’

The server took away their empty plates, asking if they wanted dessert.

Never mind dessert, Draken thought.

‘Yes, please. With extra sweetener,’ she said.

And as the desire to leave this mundane place mounted, time around Jevaire slowed, as if the Sailing Balloon was caught in the gravitation pull of a black hole.

There was fun to be had with this relationship—more than he had expected—and he didn’t intend to waste the occasion.

CHAPTER TWO

Eleanor

Hunger.

It haunted Eleanor and the entire colony of labour workers night and day: whether they slept, worked, or ate what little scraps Noozle—the slimy cave site manager—allowed them to have.

After a long back-breaking day, the long queue of dirty, hunched workers moved through the dark mines of Draylon like a drowsy snake.

Malnutrition, dehydration, and cold were inseparable companions and frequent causes of death. Many had died since Eleanor’s arrival, children and adults alike. And hunger would likely have killed her too if she had not used her powers to heal herself. But like every other Augment, she too needed to replenish her powers with proteins and carbs after using them.

With overseer Noozle rationing their food, raiding the mines’ larder had become a dangerous but necessary routine. Food gave her the strength to survive in a cycle of never-ending exhausting days snuffling in the dirt like a pig. On a lucky day, she shared the stolen food with the children.

A sudden fit of coughing broke the rhythm of staggering feet on rocky ground. Someone beside her spat phlegm on the ground.

Eleanor cast a glance at the tall and sickly man bent over to spit out his soul. She didn’t stop and dragged herself towards the cubicle where she slept, a bunk dug into the rock, next to another girl.

She dozed, dreaming of dark chocolate dummies that tasted like heaven and woke up tormented by hunger pangs before drifting off to sleep again. A grumbling noise woke her up at last: her body on low fuel sent her a clear message—she needed food.

With caution, she crept out of her cubicle, making sure not to wake her neighbour, but to her surprise, the other girl wasn’t in her cot. Panic gripped her throat like a scarf of stone, squeezing harder and harder. Her friend’s absence was ominous, much like the sweet scent of decay foreshadowed rotten flesh.

With a deep breath to gather her strength, Eleanor left and climbed to the main level of the mine where they worked during the day, or at least what they considered the day. Eleanor had never seen the daylight of a star, except for the memories of her past clones and the master copy, Maka.

She searched high and low for her neighbour until the hunger pangs pushed her to move on. The world swirled around in a blur of black and grey. When she cracked her eyes open again, she spotted a faint glow coming from ahead. She forced herself to keep her eyes open. And then she spotted it: a bundle of dirty rags around a humanoid shape lying on the dirt. The shape was too small to belong to an adult. Hardly able to breathe for fear of finding it was her friend, Eleanor rushed on, but stumbled and fell to the ground. Too tired to stand again, she crawled until her hand reached out for a bony arm and rolled the body over. Fabric covered the face. Eleanor’s shaking hand fumbled with the rough cloth and set it aside, her breath tight in her throat. Her heart sank like a broken ship in a tempest when she identified the girl’s features.

Her friend, cold to the touch, lay lifeless in her arms.

‘Wake up,’ she whispered. Her mind stretched forwards and focused to transfer a sparkle of energy to the limp body she held close. But all she found was darkness and cold, gripping her mind and her body.

She hugged the stiff corpse and cried until her eyes hurt and her tears dried, then sat, losing the sense of time.

Boots scraping the floor snapped her out of the trance. A woman’s voice giggled softly, while another voice grunted. They were getting closer. ‘Where you going, hot pie? Come and warm up muh big boy.’ At the sound of Noozle’s voice, Eleanor’s blood froze. The memory of his rancid breath haunted her, and his hands … One time too many, he had tried to touch her improperly. If he found her here …

She tried to lift the corpse in her arms, but her energies were running too low.

As quietly as she could, Eleanor released her late friend and crawled to the wall, flattening herself against a dark crevice. She couldn’t go invisible, but if she stopped breathing, perhaps Noozle wouldn’t hear her.

The cave site manager moved closer to the corpse. ‘Ah, look what we’s got here,’ he said, turning back.

Porzia—the olive-skinned prisoner who always wore clean clothing so tight that her curves seemed ready to explode, followed the rake-thin man.

Noozle kicked the corpse.

Eleanor clenched her fists.

‘Oh, who cares, Nooz.’ Porzia padded towards him like a cat, silent and slow. Her index finger drew imaginary shapes on his chest.

Eleanor’s stomach grumbled. Porzia’s eyes flashed in her direction before she purred and murmured, ‘Let’s warm up your big boy.’ She grabbed his arm and pulled him in the opposite direction, away from Eleanor.

The cave site manager hesitated. ‘Hmm …’

Eleanor held her breath. The intense desire to push him away from her friend washed over her like a flood. Noozle stumbled as if someone had shoved him.

Porzia linked her arm with Noozle’s and led him away. She said, ‘C’mon, I’m getting the hots.’

Breathless and still as a statue, Eleanor remained hidden until the sound of the couple’s voices trailed off. Tears blurred her vision as she said a silent goodbye to the latest friend on a long list.

***

Determined not to starve to death, Eleanor trudged further away from the main tunnels and back towards the secondary ones, her mind wandering.

She had cared for Larson and Jorelle—a strong and experienced Augment—but instead of teaching her how to control her powers, they had abandoned her in this hell. No one deserved this.

A flicker of rage ignited in her. No matter what other Augments thought about her, she would survive this. She intended to disappoint their low expectations of her because she wanted to stay alive, even if only to screw up their plans.

Eleanor crawled into the darkest areas along a concrete tunnel leading to an escalator to the upper floors. It was useless without the key to activate it, but at the beginning of the corridor, a ventilation system panel followed the lift’s path. She elbowed the panel, and the opposite corner lifted from the wall. Her fingers scrabbled in the gap. With a heave, she yanked the grate free and flung it aside. Once inside the tunnel, she picked the panel by its handle and pushed it back into place.

The ventilation system was large enough for her skinny body to move and turn around when needed, but she still had to crawl all the way to a storage room. From there, the climb up to the cellar floor strained her sluggish muscles. The cellar was where rations for the labourers were stored, many of which never got to their intended destination.

The easiest food to steal was fresh and dry fruit, but that day she couldn’t resist a bar of dark chocolate. Noozle never shared those with labourers, but only gave them old or expired field rations. Sometimes the rancid smell made Eleanor’s stomach churn, but no one dared complain or refuse them.

In seconds, she wolfed the bar down. Soon enough, she passed from hunger pangs to cramps tearing apart her stomach. Waves of nausea assaulted her until she threw up.

Exhausted, she dozed.

In her dream, her familiar yet detested surroundings changed from barren, dark tunnels into shattered buildings of glass and twisted metal. An inferno of flame painted in orange the toxic atmosphere of Mander Prime. Screams filled the air, not from labourers, but from terrified Manderians.

Beside her, Jorelle’s face flickered, and a cruel smile twisted her pretty face. She lifted a hand and shot fire from her fingers. Before Eleanor could react, a scorching wave engulfed her … and darkness swallowed her.

***

Eleanor’s head swam. Her limbs felt heavy, her throat burnt, and her stomach hurt as if a dagger was splitting it in two. A sharp pain stabbed into her midsection. Memories of an unsettling dream lingered at the back of her head, but a noise distracted her from them and her pains.

‘Your chick said Ah’m hot, den she jumped on muh cock.’ Noozle’s voice sang. It sounded too close.

Eleanor snapped her eyes open. She lay in a puddle of her own vomit.

Crates and boxes surrounded her in a concrete room with a metallic sliding door.

Garbage from her previous meal lay by.

‘Puns of pearls, yo tongue will twirl.

Got beans if you wanna pop

All Ah really want is fo me to get on top.’ Noozle’s drunken singing was getting closer, and Eleanor’s powers were not replenished. If he found her here, she was done for.

Beep, beep, beep. ‘Access denied.’ The voice belonged to a computer, just outside the door.

Eleanor froze. Noozle was trying to get in.

A kick hit the door. ‘Fook it,’ Noozle muttered.

Beep, beep, beep.

Eleanor held her breath.

‘Access denied,’ the computer said, followed by another kick at the door.

With her head pounding and her abdomen in flames, Eleanor stood and crashed into a crate.

Beep, beep, beep. ‘Access denied.’

Noozle didn’t comment on the noise she had caused, swearing over and over. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her, or perhaps he had and was desperate to get inside, cuff her, and …

I must leave. The grate seemed so far away, but she had to reach it before Noozle entered the right code, before he opened the door and grabbed her to do who knew what. Except she knew what he would do.

Panic clawed at her. She tried to hurry her climb, making no noise as beads of sweat ran down her face.

With the little strength still in her, she stumbled back to the grate as the door beeped once, and the computer’s voice said, ‘Access granted.’

CHAPTER THREE

Draken

Gintor 30, 2495

As he lay on his back, Draken gazed at the ceiling of the bedroom in his residence. The pleasant warmth of the night’s air entered through the open window, reinvigorating his body and cooling it down after another heated mating ritual with Jevaire.

‘There’s something I want from you.’ Jevaire’s voice came from the refresher and distracted Draken from his thoughts.

He stiffened. Every relationship he’d engaged in since Rotima’s death had come to this: they all wanted something, and it was always something he was not interested in. Now, the dreaded moment had come again. She would ask him to commit to their relationship in public, and their idyllic life would end. It was a shame, and out of Jevaire’s character, to ask him to officialise their affair. But what else would it be if not a request to bond with her?

She returned from the refresher and leant on the door frame, arms crossed. The dim lights highlighted the muscles of her tough body. Although not strictly beautiful to watch, he found the toned curves rather alluring.

‘It is not what you think, Draken.’ Small dimples emerged on her cheeks.

He sat, running his fingers through his hair. ‘How do you know what I think?’

Her chuckle suggested he had asked a predictable question. ‘Knowing things is part of my job.’

But not reading my thoughts.

Jevaire stalled to keep him on the edge, a game she loved playing.

‘What do you want from me, Centur?’

She padded to the window; her attention absorbed by the endless sky lit by the two Manderian moons. Her naked figure cast a shadow across the floor. ‘What a curious boy you are.’

Draken sucked the air in, repressing the instinct to sneak up to her and extract the answer to his question one way or another. ‘A boy, you say. Is that how you picture me when we mate?’

She chuckled, turning around to face him. ‘Children.’ Her reply came without hesitation.

He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. What kind of answer was that?

‘Let’s face it, Draken. We aren’t meant for marriage. I’m not interested in committing with one man, and you are married to the militia. But that doesn’t have to stop us from having children.’

Of all the possibilities, this one would never have crossed his mind. Children came with marriage. That was the tradition, but times changed. He was changed. What did it matter if they weren’t married? Could he be a father again? Out of the fourteen children Rotima had given him, everyone but Milvar and Malik had died too soon, either after birth or in battle.

The desire to have more children had never died, but his late wife had been of a different opinion, refusing to mate with him so that, after the last batch had etched, he had continued to get his monthly hormonal suppressant.2 At first, only to control his physical needs, and after Rotima’s death, to avoid unwanted pregnancies. Besides, the war against the Coalition, B-42, and the Augments had filled every moment of his life back then. Now he was focused on Cressel and his security.

He massaged his jaw. ‘Why do you want children with me?’

She lay down and propped herself up on one arm.

Draken’s eyes tracked the movements of her breasts when she breathed.

‘Why not? Your name speaks for itself. Your actions denote strength. What else could a mother want for her children?’

He didn’t know and right now didn’t care, either.

She grinned. ‘I also believe you’d be a good father.’

He searched for traces of mockery in her voice but found none. Malik had never seen eye to eye with him and still blamed him for Rotima’s death, even after Draken had found the culprits and sent them to trial and death. ‘My son would disagree with you.’

‘I can live with that.’

‘This may take time.’

She shrugged. ‘I’m not in a rush. Cancel your monthly hormonal suppressant, fuck me hard, and let nature take its course.’

His hormonal suppressant was due in three days. He had no problem cancelling it, and none with fucking her hard every night.

With slow movements, Jevaire crawled to him. Tilting her head, she pressed her mouth against his, then pushed his chest, forcing him back on the mattress. Their mouths parted. ‘Make up your mind, Draken. I don’t want to waste my time. Are you in?’

If he refused, he’d spend the rest of his nights on Prime alone. If he accepted, he’d have a chance to impregnate her and have fun at the same time.

He gazed down at his groin. ‘You would feel it if I were in.’

With a sigh, she started to climb off the bed, but he seized her arm in an iron grip, dragged her down and rolled on top of her. ‘I’ll cancel my appointment. But first, I’ll teach you a lesson.’

Jevaire chuckled. ‘Yes, Master.’

CHAPTER FOUR

Eleanor

Hidden behind the grid, Eleanor lay still. Her eyes widened in terror.

The unstable legs of the manager stumbled in as he hummed the same song he had been yelling before. The humming stopped. Impossible for him to miss the garbage and my vomit, no matter how drunk he is, she thought.

‘What the fook is dat?’ He tottered between the boxes, searching for the intruder. ‘Where are you, thief? Come ta Noozle,’ he said, fumbling around. Then he halted in front of the grid, his feet the only visible part of his body.

Eleanor held her breath. The breeze coming in from the open door threatened to make her shiver. The sound of her racing heart thundered inside her ears, deafening her. She wanted to crawl away as fast as possible, but any movement now might give away her hideout, and then …

If only I could orb away!

Her head throbbed, her stomach ached, and sweat trickled icily down her brow.

Plop.

A drop fell on the floor of the duct. She shut her eyes and clenched her teeth.

‘Filthy thief,’ Noozle said.

Nooo, he heard me.

Steps broke the silence.

‘When Ah find you, you pay fo dis.’ His voice came from further ahead now.

Eleanor cracked one eye open. He stood by the door on the other side of the room. ‘Oswall!’ he yelled inside the comms. ‘We ave a fooking thief. Some bastard raided de larder. Send me someone ta instal a camera, so dat Ah can catch muh bird and fook it.’

Eleanor’s lungs burnt. She slowly released her breath, while Noozle yelled at the child supervisor.

‘Ten minutes? Fine, fine.’ He closed the comms and groaned with disdain. ‘Ah ave ta clean yo vomit now, but you pay fo dis later.’

As soon as Noozle walked away from the door, Eleanor crawled back through the duct towards the cave. When she thought she was far enough, she stopped to catch her breath. Her stomach still tormented her, but the lucky escape from Noozle filled her thoughts. I was so close to being discovered. And if Noozle installed a camera inside the larder, she would have no way to get in unnoticed again. How would she gather the extra food she needed to survive?

She rested her head on her arm and lay along the duct for some time, trying to recover from the pain and to find a solution, but she was too exhausted, sick, and scared to think with clarity.

Disoriented, Eleanor blinked, her eyes struggling to focus on the room beyond the grate across the darkness.

Metallic cabinets lined the walls. At the centre of the room, an empty desk was covered with dozens of tablets. I’ve seen this place before.

A woman entered. She wore a grey suit over a gaunt body. Two thin legs peeked from beneath the gown, wearing black loafers. Their heels ticked on the metallic floor. She was speaking over her shoulder. ‘Yes, they installed your camera. Whoever has been raiding the larder will find a nasty surprise. Now, don’t bother me until tomorrow.’

The woman locked the door and sagged onto a chair. Eleanor recognised her now. It was Oswall. Only then did she spot the box on Oswall’s desk.

The woman opened it. It was filled with smaller containers. She took them out and placed them on the desk, pushing the tablets aside. A few fell on the ground, but Oswall didn’t waste time picking them up.

One by one, she opened the containers. A chicken leg was in the first one. The second had something that looked like vegetables, and the third contained a slice of pie.

Eleanor wanted to cry. She lay there, watching hungrily while Oswall ate her meat and salad and threw her leftovers in a bin.

CHAPTER FIVE

Draken

Gintor 31, 2495

Sunneth sank below the horizon as Draken set his desk in order before his evening appointment with another attempt at fatherhood. He stood, ready to leave, when a yellow-flagged message from the training division flashed on his console.

Stiff like a sturdanium rod, Draken sat again and stared at the light: on and off, on and off.

His hand hesitated above the tablet. Time stretched and with every passing second, the weight of the revelation grew heavier. Finally, he mustered the courage, and with a quick motion, pressed the button.

The data extrapolated by the analysts showed a list of suspects which he narrowed down to two former agents of the Black Squad. One was dead and the other still alive. Which one was his brother?

So close to the truth, Draken’s back scales curled upwards, a reaction representing a tension he hadn’t experienced since the day he had escaped Mander Prime with Cressel, Rotima, and Milvar. The next step would determine whether his brother was alive or not. And now so close to his answer, his body refused to move and reveal the truth, his mouth dryer than a fistful of sand.

Almost in slow motion, he clicked the last command.

In horror, he checked the agents’ DNA. The tablet slipped from his hands and hit the corner of the desk before gaining momentum and slamming on the floor.

Draken closed his eyes and sighed in relief. His stomach unclenched. The DNA matched. His brother Delvek Kosset, code name Sigma, was stationed on Cressel Prime—the space station that hosted Kaileegh Tokal, the Manderian-Lyran hybrid with special powers, the weapon they had been using to contrast the Augments. Temporarily assigned to a mission on Mitov, he’d soon return.

Draken’s mind flashed back to Tokal’s file, recalling that it was Agent Sigma and the Augment Jessa Donovan who were responsible for the hybrid’s training.

Draken smashed the tablet with his boot. Crystals and mechanical parts scattered all over the linoleum floor. If anyone in the Draconian Order found out the truth, they might decide to threaten them or terminate their lives. A secret agent with a family was an oxymoron, and that was why the Secret Service had always enrolled orphans, including the fake ones.

It was better to never reveal the truth to anyone, not even Delvek himself. All Draken needed was a reason to travel to Cressel Prime to meet with his brother and assure himself he was well, even if Delvek would never know.

He checked the time. Krast, Jevaire! Two hours late to their appointment. She would never forgive him for forgetting about her. Yet, tonight of all nights, he wanted her and wouldn’t take no for an answer, just because she was angry. She could take her anger on him. The angrier, the better.

When he arrived at her residence, he slipped in without turning the lights on and padded towards the bedroom, expecting to find her in bed. In the night’s darkness, Draken observed the room. The bedsheets were undone, but the folded uniform on the nightstand was a clear sign of her presence. However, she chose to remain hidden, turning this encounter into an impromptu hide-and-seek game. Yes, she was angry, and he was ready for her rage.

With a grin, he began to search for his prey. Several times he followed noises around the house, believing she had made a mistake, but each time he thought he’d located her position, another sound lured him to a different room: she was playing with his hearing.

In the end, it was her perfume that gave her away, although too late to prevent her forearm from smashing against his throat. She slammed him against a wall.

Eyes flaring even in the dark, Jevaire kneed his groin, sending nausea to his stomach. Her palm slammed against his lower jaw. Another blow smashed into his face.

He growled, spitting blood, and lashed out at her. His fist caught her left side like a ship crashing into a gravity well. Jevaire grunted as she bent over in pain. Draken gave her no time to react. He jerked his knee into her face. She dropped before their body connected and rolled towards his other leg. He smashed onto the floor.

Grappling, they rolled. He twisted behind her and grabbed her in a choke hold, flinging his leg over her prone body, her legs locked in place by his.

‘Yield,’ he grunted.

Jevaire remained still, gasping for air. She groaned, squirming her body against his. Her movements sent waves of lechery down his gonads. ‘I said, give in.’

Jevaire grunted, writhing to get free, but stopped when his hold tightened.

‘I yield.’ The reply was a moan deep from her throat.

It sent another wave of lust through his loins.

When he released his hold, they tore apart what pieces of clothes remained still intact.

Hours later, a noise woke him up. Jevaire stood by her bed like a sculpture in calcidian marble.

This night, no moonlight overshadowed the smattering of stars visible from the window.

‘The pregnancy test I did this morning was negative.’

Draken rolled to his side, leaning his head on his hand. His body was bruised and spent after releasing the tension he’d held for days. Yet, he wouldn’t mind mating again. Her negative test was reason enough for a fourth round. ‘I guess we need to try harder.’

Hands on her hips, her dilated pupils ran over his body. ‘I told you to fuck me hard, but not tonight. My shift starts in two hours. I need to shower and go to work.’

Draken could contact her commander and order him to change the roaster. Or suggest that he give her a leave of absence, but he wouldn’t do any of those things, in the name of duty.

‘In that case, I’ll take advantage of the empty bed to rest.’

She disappeared into the refresher and said, ‘Make yourself home.’

Draken’s eyes traced imaginary cracks on the ceiling, missing already the coolness of her body next to his and with that thought, he fell asleep.

***

As an honorary member, Draken rarely attended the Advisory Board’s meetings any longer, his duty as head of the Elite Guard kept him busy enough—a realistic excuse to avoid long, boring political dissertations.

Yet, this morning, Esian Cressel had requested his presence. What was the reason for summoning him? Had anyone found out about Draken’s secret research into his brother’s whereabouts? Rogar, perhaps? Regardless of the caution used to dig into Delvek’s past, with her, anything was possible. Delvek’s life depended on secrecy, and it was imperative he preserved the secret.

Draken entered the meeting room in one of the round platforms at the top of the Tribute Tower. With an oval table and eight stations connected to the main network, it overlooked the capital. In the distance, Lake Sabrak’s waters shined under Sunneth’s red light, the flat surface disturbed only by tiny dots cruising it.

To his surprise, only Cressel waited there. Not even Delmin Nevell Mortret was present. Why hadn’t Cressel invited his personal advisor? Not that Draken was complaining. Mortret’s extreme views about aliens bordered on utter paranoia and disturbed every other member of the Board, including the most xenophobic ones.

He straightened his uniform to set his paranoid thoughts aside. In the presence of one of the best spies of the Directorate, thinking was forbidden, lest he read his body language.

‘Director,’ he saluted, hitting his chest with his left fist.

‘As you were, Draken. No need for all these formalities,’ Cressel said. Clad in a grey suit, the Director sat at the head of the table. He gestured to the chair at his right—what was usually Mortret’s seat.

‘You’re probably asking yourself why I called you here today,’ Cressel started, his dark eyes staring into Draken’s.

‘I’m sure there is a reason.’

Cressel crossed his fingers on the desk. ‘Can your men handle my security without you for a time?’

The question fuelled Draken’s paranoia, but he forced himself to stay lucid. ‘I chose the members of the Elite Guard with the utmost care. They’re trained to handle any situation.’

‘I expected as much,’ Cressel said, pressing his hands together. The grey sleeves of his shirt rolled up, revealing some missing dark-blue scales, old scars the Director wore with pride.

‘I am at your service.’ Draken kept his expression neutral and his mind blank to hide as much as possible the tension simmering within.

Cressel continued. ‘I need someone trusted on Cressel Prime.’

The space station, constructed as a tribute to Cressel’s achievements, was the oldest one of the Directorate. Cressel had just served him the opportunity to meet his brother on a silver platter.

Draken allowed his lips to curl up. ‘You can count on me, Esian.’

‘Before leaving, I need you to assemble a special team of twenty to send to the Station. They have to be trained for assault and protection. They’ll need to have an open mind towards aliens.’

Aside from the hybrid and the augmented human, Jessa Donovan, the only alien residents of the stations were the eroticians, and entertainment with prostitutes wasn’t the task Cressel was talking about. A dreadful sensation crept from the pit of Draken’s stomach to his throat, almost suffocating him.

‘I see. This is about the hybrid. What happened to the previous team?’ Draken asked, as he opened the station’s file and searched for general data on the two special alien residents.

‘There wasn’t a team. Agent Sigma was her trainer, assisted by the clone Jessa Donovan.’

Agent Sigma. Was. Past tense. Cressel never used words lightly. Each one of them had a meaning. His affirmation hit Draken like a meteorite strike he hadn’t seen coming. The possibility of a reunion with his lost brother shattered.

The Director continued. ‘We’re not satisfied with the hybrid’s performances. Sigma and the clone protect her as parents would do with freshly hatched eggs. We can’t tolerate it any longer. The Augments are still plaguing us, and we’re far from conquering Terra Prime. With the power in her hands, we should have the galaxy at our feet.’

‘What about Sigma’s mission on Mitov?’

‘There is no mission on Mitov. The hybrid submitted reports about the spy’s failures on several missions.’

Another meteorite struck home. ‘The hybrid’s reports?’ Draken searched for them in the station’s files, to no avail. ‘There are no reports from the hybrid.’

‘That’s because I disclosed them only to Hertak.’

‘Do we trust Tokal’s words, a hybrid, against the words of a pure-blood Draconian agent?’ It was all he could say, though the calm in his words masked the turmoil raging inside.

Cressel’s expression betrayed his displeasure at his next words. ‘Unfortunately so, Draken. However, my disappointment in Sigma isn’t born only from the girl’s reports, but also from Sigma’s unethical behaviour in establishing a sentimental relationship with the clone and the hybrid, which held back her development. At twenty, Tokal should be independent.’

The irony of this situation struck Draken hard. The words of the woman he was now destined to work with had led to Delvek’s death, a bitter truth that had shattered Draken’s foolish dream. A primal instinct to avenge his brother blazed within. Yet, duty and honour held their sway over Draken’s heart. He was a soldier, a servant of the Directorate, sworn to uphold principles that transcended his feelings. ‘I see,’ he said, barely moving his lips.

‘I trust you will work hard with the hybrid and get from her the results Sigma did not. Make her an invincible soldier.’

Somehow, he heard Rogar speaking those words. After all this time she still had a strong leverage over Cressel, and her ambition knew no limit.

‘I will not disappoint you.’

Cressel activated a screen. ‘This is Sigma’s execution order, signed by Hertak. Attached, you’ll also find the recording of his execution. I’d advise against showing the latter to the hybrid, but if push comes to shove, you have complete authority about how to handle her.’

Draken summoned all his self-control to mask his emotions, concealing them from the best spy the Halden had seen. Only a day had passed since uncovering the truth about Delvek. However, Rogar had changed everything, smashing Draken’s belief that reuniting with his brother would help stop the nightmares.

Draken pressed his tongue against his teeth, trying to anchor himself to the present. ‘What about the clone? If she was so close to Sigma and protective towards the hybrid, she won’t take the news well.’

‘By the time you get there, she won’t be your problem.’

The clone, an augmented human created using combined DNA from the twin sisters Jessica Bowen and Ryma Waters, had been an important pawn on the Board. Would Cressel get rid of her, too? Draken didn’t feel any fondness towards Augments, but this one … this one had been close to Delvek for years. She would know things about the spy no one else did.

‘One last thing, before the others arrive. Hertak took the liberty of suggesting a name to join your team and take command of the station. She’s shown interesting skills in the past. It’s all in the file I sent you with your orders.’

Rogar’s suggestions were like orders.

Draken read the name Halazar Meviz, but he had never heard of her. ‘I’ll give it my full attention,’ Draken said, keeping his voice neutral, and ignoring the turmoil inside his chest.

‘Leave for the station as soon as everything’s ready.’

Before he could reply, the door opened, and the other members of the Advisory Board entered. The last one to walk in was Rogar, surprisingly followed by Vikan Rosko, her head of security. What was he doing here?

***

Draken stood to leave Nevell Mortret’s seat. The Delmin, shorter than even the female members of the Board, wore a perpetually smug expression that transformed his oval face and pointed chin into a grotesque mask. His thin lips were always bent in an unappealing smirk. As if it weren’t enough, Mortret’s high-pitched voice and his fanaticism proved too overwhelming even for him. Yet, for some reason, Cressel trusted the man.

Everyone took their places. Oddly enough, Rosko didn’t leave the room, but placed himself at Rogar’s back, another sign fuelling Draken’s paranoia. The guard’s presence during a meeting of the Advisory Board was unprecedented. Rumour had it they’d been in an off and on again relationship since the time he had helped her escape from the capital on Liberation Day. Even after Cressel had asked her to marry him. It wouldn’t be beneath her to cheat on her then fiancé like she had cheated on her husband with Cressel.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ Mortret greeted them, his voice grating on Draken’s nerves, as if what had transpired hadn’t been enough. ‘The first order of business is the Director’s speech for Liberation Day. It’s been a while since he appeared on a public broadcast. Vice Director Rogar thinks this would be a good time to show himself and suggested delivering the speech from Cressel Prime.’

Draken held his breath. First, his transfer to the space station to work with the hybrid, then Delvek’s execution, and now this. With Rogar behind everything.

Draken forced a relaxed breath out. ‘Cressel Prime is an old station. There are better-equipped places to hold a speech, safer places.’

‘I’m sure your skills will make Cressel Prime the safest place in the Directorate. You have plenty of time to arrange every security detail, after all,’ Rogar said, her crimson eyes gazing at him for the first time.

Draken stiffened. She dared defy him in front of the entire Board. He couldn’t let this go, even at the risk of showing his feelings.

‘Of course, no one doubts my skills, and besides, the hybrid will be at my side. But that doesn’t change facts. The station is old and its security system obsolete. Choosing it as a location for such an event is a mistake.’

The room filled with the buzz of the other advisors.

Mortret shifted his chair, and the loud screech silenced every other conversation in the room. ‘Nonsense. We have plenty of time to update the security system for Liberation Day, and celebrate twenty years of freedom from a symbol of the Directorate …,’

How Cressel could suffer the Delmin was beyond Draken. Without even an assessment of the station’s actual situation, making the choice now was suicide.

Rosko, still like a marble statue until then, checked something on his wristcomms, then tapped on it. At the same time, Rogar checked her tablet.

The scales on Draken’s back curled.