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Chapter two

Power and Politics

P etre sat on the hard bench in the plain gray corridor, his ass slowly going numb.

If he had been at the Maman offices on the Verit homeworld, he would have been waiting in their imposing council chambers, all dark stone and polished marble designed to remind supplicants of their place in the Matriarch’s world. Instead, he waited outside the small colonial offices assigned to the Verit Maman delegation on Dalat. Describing them as rustic was being charitable.

His escort, Varian-Pa, stood against the opposite wall, affecting a casual indifference that had always irritated Petre. He desperately wanted to punch him in his smug face.

Varian looked up, as if he sensed his thoughts, and flashed him an arrogant smirk. “I wonder why they’re making you wait so long?” Varian asked, examining his nails with exaggerated interest.

Petre ignored him and watched a ten-legged orange insect crawl slowly across the floor, dragging the still-twitching carcass of a smaller insect behind it. As an allegory, it was quite the reflection of his own situation.

He'd been summoned to attend the Maman Council on Dalat.

Even these days, when Maman Frei's influence on the Verit colonists was slipping, it wasn’t smart to disobey. The Dathalka clan’s two years of relative freedom on Dalat had sent ripples throughout Verit society, and more than one clan was watching to see which way things would fall. How hard and fast the Maman would jerk the choke chain, when they made their move to pull their errant males back into line.

Perhaps that explained why he’d been left waiting for over an hour, as a petty display of power.

Even if it was petty, he sat and waited politely. Even with her influence reduced, only a stupid male underestimated Frei. He had no intention of committing suicide by Maman today.

He took a deep breath to quell the unease churning in his stomach. A private audience with a Maman rarely ended well. He couldn’t afford to show any weakness; they scented it like blood in the water.

“They're ready for you,” Varian announced. “Try not to embarrass yourself.”

Maman Bylelle waited in the doorway, her golden hair adorned with a diadem, her formal jacket glittering with metallic thread and semi-precious stones. As she motioned him in with an elegant head tilt, Petre did his best to keep his instinctive revulsion firmly to himself. Bylelle always reminded him slightly of a snake.

She preceded him and took her seat next to the others. They were all in full regalia, three Maman seated behind the long conference table like judges at a tribunal. He wondered if they knew how absurd they looked. Maman Frei sat in the center, flanked by Bylelle and Scara.

Frei was cast in the same mold as Bylelle, though illness had burned the softness from her frame, leaving her resembling nothing so much as a hunter eyeing its prey. Beautiful, golden-haired, and entirely vicious, like all Maman.

“Petre-De.” Maman Frei's voice carried easily in the small conference room. “Your work overseeing the colony's infrastructure expansion has impressed us. We are gratified that our clan's investment in you has paid dividends.”

He stiffened at being reduced to just an investment but kept his face carefully neutral. After all, it was only the truth of how the Maman saw their males. “Thank you, Lady Frei.”

“We have a task of great importance to assign you.”

He braced himself. Here it comes . The Maman never gave compliments without wanting something in return.

“I am honored to serve, ladies.” As if I have a choice .

“Governor Maral,” Bylelle's voice dripped with disdain, “will shortly announce a new infrastructure project. With the increasing numbers of colonists and Zyilan prospectors, we urgently need to expand food production. As senior administrator, you will lead the project.” She smiled tightly. “This project has been granted permission to work with Casti, and to utilize technology it has agreed to share.”

His jaw dropped. Casti. The ancient alien ship was the most significant technological discovery in a thousand years, and it was notoriously selective about sharing its advanced technologies.

“That’s incredible! I wasn't aware we'd made any horticultural breakthroughs with Casti.”

The implications were huge. One of their biggest challenges was that local food wasn't digestible by most species without medical intervention. The colony required expensive off-world supply chains and labor-intensive hydroponics bays to support itself and the growing number of visitors. If Casti had technology to solve this…

“You will lead the implementation,” Frei continued, “overseeing a team of specialists working with Casti directly.”

That’s it? He almost laughed, giddy with relief. Why all the cloak and dagger? If he’d known about the project, he would have jumped at the chance to work with Casti’s technology, along with half the scientists and engineers on the colony.

“Certainly, Maman. I will make arrangements to reassign some of my current duties. I-”

“I am not finished!” Frei's hiss cut through the air like a whip. “You will be given unprecedented access to Casti. The project personnel will be granted time aboard ship, and a lab to experiment with merging its technology with ours.” She leaned forward. “You will use this access to gather whatever information you can on its advanced tech. That machine guards a wealth of technology, and it's refusing to share.” She settled back, adjusting her robes with deliberate precision. “Get us technology we can use. You will share this information with us alone.”

“But that would violate the colony charter. All Casti discoveries are meant to be shared equally.”

“The colonial alliance is none of your business,” Frei snapped. “I do not care about the other parties. I care about the safety, security and prosperity of Verit.”

Scara spoke up for the first time, frowning at her Maman sisters. “I think this is a misstep. The colonial alliance benefits us already, this could jeopardize-”

“Don’t be so na?ve, Scara.” Bylelle’s voice was caustic. “The K'Dec's mating was a political move designed to diminish our influence.” She thumped her hand on the table for emphasis. “Every day, our traditions erode further. The Falosians and their alien allies push their ideas, their ideologies, onto our people.”

Scara shook her head, unwilling to back down, and Petre was reluctantly impressed. He hadn’t had much to do with Scara over the past few years, but his impression of her had been as a polite, dutiful ghost. She floated around, running Frei’s errands, and didn’t cause waves. Apparently, he’d missed a trick. She had grown some claws of her own. “I really don’t think this is a good idea. This is the first time Casti has offered to share with us any of its technology. If it discovers that we are stealing from it, we may never get the opportunity again.”

Bylelle snorted in derision. “How will it find out? You all act as if it is omnipotent. It’s a machine . An ancient AI. We just need to be cautious, that’s all.”

Maman Frei held up a hand, silencing the debate. “Ladies, we have had this discussion and made our decision.” She fixed Scara with a steely glare. “My word is final. You will implement our decision.” She glared at Petre. “As for you, we are not asking your opinion. You will do whatever is necessary to provide us with access to technologies we can use. We will keep our own counsel on what to do with them.”

“I understand the desire to access Casti’s technologies, it’s strategic importance,” he tried, “but surely there are other ways—”

“You are valuable to us, Petre, but not indispensable.” She smiled thinly. “Neither is your brother, Luken. Consider what you say next.”

Oh, Goddess, Luken. His brother. His twin.

“And if the technology proves dangerous?” he asked. It was a monumentally risky idea. Casti’s tech was so far beyond anything he had; it was like giving a toddler a laser rifle.

“Then you will make it safe,” Maman Frei said simply.

“If I am discovered, I’ll be arrested,” he protested.

Bylelle’s eyes glittered, enjoying his squirming. “Then don’t get caught.”

This was a disaster waiting to happen. They were asking him to betray everything he believed in, to put a stain on his honor that would never be expunged. “Respectfully, Maman, I decline. I won't do it.” He stood, coldly furious. “I'll go to the Governor. I’ll—”

“Sit down!” The command bypassed his brain and went straight to his legs, which obeyed through years of training. He thunked back down into the seat.

Frei laughed, a brittle sound that held no warmth. “Running to Maral might save you and your brother, yes. But what about your father?”

The blood drained from Petre's face. “What are you talking about?”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Frei's smile was razor thin. “Have your messages been going unanswered? I wonder why.”

His heart stuttered. “If you've hurt him—”

“He's perfectly safe. For now.” Frei fixed him with an impassive stare. “Whether he remains that way is up to you.”

Frei waved at Scara. “You'll begin immediately. Scara will provide you with an encryption crystal and a psychic block. The psychic block will ensure that Casti or the Falosians cannot read the intent in your mind. Bylelle will be your contact and will monitor your progress. And Petre?” She paused. “Remember—this is about protecting our people. Our ways. That's worth some small ethical… flexibility.”

He clamped his mouth shut to stop himself from making anymore foolish statements.

Scara stood and silently handed him over a small crystal, refusing to meet his eyes. Nope, no support there . She motioned for him to bend forward in his chair and produced a slim gray tube. She pressed it to the back of his neck, just below his skull.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This will hurt.”

She activated the tube, and a spike pierced his spine, freezing his muscles, locking him in place, pouring white hot fire through his nerves. His vision swam, white spots clouding it, and for a second, he thought he would pass out.

After an eternity, he realized that the pain in his spine was receding, replaced by a new pain as his abused muscles roared back to life, vicious pins and needles crawling over him. When his muscles had relaxed enough, he sagged over in his chair, panting for a minute before he dragged together enough energy to rise.

Frei examined him dispassionately. Scara watched him, eyes wet with unshed tears, and Bylelle…her eyes gleamed with fascination. Bitch . She was enjoying his discomfort. He met her gaze, and just for a moment, he let his anger show in his eyes, and her lips curved slightly at the corners. Shit .

What the fuck am I doing? The pain had made him dangerous and stupid. He was a Verit male, and his family’s life was on the line. He couldn’t afford to be stupid.

“If you’ve recovered, you may go. You have your orders,” clipped Frei.

He struggled to his feet, managed a haphazard bow and left the chamber, strapping steel to his spine and wobbling knees as he went. He could do this. He had to do this.

What choice did he really have? To refuse would mean the end of everything he'd worked for, the death of the people he loved.

He stumbled out into the hallway, barely registering Varian's sneer as he passed. His eyes blinked rapidly as he accessed his HUD and placed the call to his father. The call went straight to message storage, just as it had for the past two weeks. He'd assumed his father was busy, or the communications were glitching again…He tried again, just to be sure. Nothing.

He called Luken next. “Meet me. Now.”

“What’s going on? Are you ok?”

Petre thought for a split second. “Just meet me now, in hydroponics.”

He didn’t wait for his brother’s response.

Twenty minutes later, they sat in the hydroponics bay, surrounded by the white noise of water circulation that would cover the sound of their conversation.

Petre relayed the situation. “They have Father,” he said, his voice raw. “I don’t know how long they’ve had him, how long they’ve been planning this.”

Luken's face was pale. “We should go to the K'Dec! Or Lucius. Maybe they could-”

“Could what? Storm Verit? Start a civil war?” Petre shook his head. “Maral isn’t going to take on Frei for this. She might protect us—maybe—but she’d never put her neck out for father. It’s an internal Verit matter. She has no jurisdiction there. And what would be the point, by the time anyone reached him…” He couldn't finish the sentence.

“So we do nothing? Just follow orders like good little pets? Help them steal from Casti?” Luken ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “If we're caught-”

He let the threat hang. They both knew that if they were caught, they wouldn’t survive. Frei would never risk them spilling everything under interrogation. She’d take steps to remove them as a problem before then.

“We play along,” Petre said quietly. “For now. We do what they want, keep Father alive, and look for a way out. There has to be a solution we're not seeing.”

“We'll figure it out,” Luken said finally. “We have to.”

Petre grasped his brother’s shoulder, but he knew their words rang hollow. The Maman had ensured his cooperation more thoroughly than any psychic block ever could. They'd always known exactly where to apply pressure to make a male bend to their will. They’d had generations of practice.