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“So you allow him to believe he is the victor.” Vadril Ot chuckled. “A flawed strategy. Ulvus Karu knows what you are doing, Drafe Karu, which is why he will repeatedly challenge you. I suggest you find another approach.”

Drafe slumped for a second before straightening. “You are wise to suggest this, Great Ot.”

“I do like you. You remained calm, gave him the benefit of the doubt when you knew his actions were deliberate, and still, you offered him a way out of his consequences.” Vadril Ot grasped Drafe’s cheeks, cupping him from jaw to hairline.

Tilting his head, the Ivoyan studied Drafe’s face before releasing him.

“Once you have completed your training, I will request your service as arrak.”

Drafe stared after the ot, too stunned to form words. His symbiotes bounced as they’d done the first time he’d quenched his thirst. A slow smile blossomed into a grin.

Osnir had seen fit to bless him again.

A decade later.

The Senate

Planet of Ivoy

D rafe stiffened, sliding his hand onto his pulsar holstered to his back.

He held his breath, his gaze tracing the Ivoyan running out of the Senate.

Boxes teetered in his long-limbed arms, his extended fingers splaying out to stabilize the shifting mass.

Drafe drew in a deep breath, the tension between his shoulders easing.

The Ivoyan was an uz, a servant, as categorized at birth and by the blue uniform molding his orange form.

Drafe raised his focus to the deep lilac and yellow skies, watching ships zip across.

As pleasant as the sight was, he should have been inside the Senate, guarding Vadril Ot.

His language implant behind his left ear had malfunctioned.

Now, he waited for a med-tech to assess the device and repair it.

Pacing, his long strides covered the distance on the floating platform.

He neared the edge, activated the air-barriers with his proximity, then spun on his heel, striding across to the other side.

Unmasking and masking his armored obsidian skin on his fingers, he sighed.

His symbiotes thrummed their displeasure, but at least, it was something different to do.

The number of scurrying servants had dwindled.

Fewer demands from the attending ots indicated the intensity of the debate.

They met once a lunar cycle to discuss expansion, inventions, discoveries, and economics.

This was an unscheduled gathering. A new species had been discovered.

He had caught a brief sighting of the body sprawled on a table in the middle of the auditorium.

Hating the delay, he grunted. Xenology was a hobby of his.

He needed to be inside, to see for himself what this species was.

Lifting his bared hand—the lilac sunlight didn’t taint the obsidian tone of his skin, he pressed the device in his neck.

“How much longer, Nenn?” He flicked his gaze upward again, searching for the med-tech, a maed.

Despite belonging to separate tribes, Drafe had grown to respect the incoming male.

This cycle, he would kill him for the delay.

“Why? You have a female awaiting your return?” Nenn chuckled, the sound reverberating through Drafe’s mind. The nodule had a distance limitation but was effective during guard duty and short excursions. A response meant the male was close.

Drafe snorted. “A female on Ivoy? Sure.”

“Ivoyans are androgynous so finding a compatible female is possible,” Nenn said with a huff that only his shoulders conveyed when he landed on the platform and deactivated his powered boots. The huff wasn’t emotive enough for the nodule to communicate.

A grunt would have, though, which Drafe used again. “I am attempting to banter with you. Try it before you reject the skill.”

“Would this be from your xenology studies I’ve heard rumors of?” Nenn’s derision silenced Drafe.

No one understood his fascination with the lesser species that inhabited the universe. Their biology, cultures, and mannerisms intrigued him. The Ivoyans and Qaldreth were once as primitive, but to suggest such a time existed was blasphemous.

Nenn strode toward him with insufficient enthusiasm for Drafe’s liking.

He spun, tilting his head for easier access to his ear.

His bald head, similar in shape to the new species, aided access.

Qaldreth shaved their heads but allowed a strip to grow from the brow to the base of his spine.

He kept most of it hidden under his dark gray, armored body suit, and since his fur was the exact shade of his suit, it blended in.

Nenn paused beside him, raising his arm to scan Drafe’s ear. “Is your ot inside?” he asked, soft beeps marking his progress.

Agony pierced Drafe’s skull, and he gritted his teeth against it. He didn’t answer for a while, focusing on controlling his breathing while his symbiotes fought to heal the cause of the pain. They couldn’t, but they would at least repair the area around the implant.

“Diagnosis?”

“Replacement,” Nenn said, lowering his arm.

“Here?” Drafe didn’t smother his hopeful tone. The quicker he received the new nodule, the quicker he could return to Vadril Ot’s side.

“No, you’ll have to come with me.”

“Curse it, Nenn. I cannot leave, not with my ot unguarded.” Drafe sliced an irritated glance at the male. A blend of orange and red fell from his brow to his nape before disappearing into his red suit. The male tsked, tilted Drafe’s head, and cold metal clipped into place…a temp-device.

“See me when you can,” Nenn said. “I’ll have the implant waiting at med-tech.”

“My thanks.” Spinning to enter the Senate, Drafe approached the hovering uz to test his temp-device. “Greetings,” he said.

The servant’s head shot up, his brow furrowing in confusion with fear lingering in his black eyes. A Qaldreth warrior never spoke to an uz unless they had been implicated in a crime.

“Be at ease. I need to test my language translator.” Drafe brushed his armor-coated fingers over his ear.

The uz flicked his gaze there. His narrow shoulders sagged with relief, and his fear faded. Drafe grimaced; if only the male would babble, then this test would be over sooner.

Clenching his jaw against the continued silence, he asked, “How fare’s the gathering?”

The uz twitched. “Meorri Arrak, this discovery has the ots eagerly chatting above each other.”

Drafe pinched his lips to smother a smile, understanding the ots’ enthusiasm. “Good.” He wrapped his fingers around the ornate handle of the large metal door, unraveling his armor for the scanner to read his genetic markers. The door unlocked with a soft click.

Intense heat engulfed his face and body.

A force blasted him back, shoving him across the platform.

He bounced off the air-balustrade to sprawl face-down across the floor.

His symbiotes bombarded him with reports, bruises, and instructions.

His vision spun, so he took a second to draw in a calming breath.

He raised a stunned gaze to the Senate. Debris rained down in numbed silence.

The uz leaned over him, peering into his eyes with his wide black orbs.

His fear was too strong, drowning Drafe’s other senses.

In a discordant roar, his hearing returned, slamming into his skull.

He cried out, slapping a hand over the temp-device; wet and warm blood staining his armored fingers.

An explosion? He scrambled to his feet, shoving the uz aside to stagger down the causeway.

A void filled his soul, where the warm glow of the connection to his ot had once resided. No, no, he refused to believe it.

The platform grumbled, shuddered, then tilted, sending him flying once more.

He activated his boots, hoping to make it inside the crumbling Senate to find his ot alive.

To lose one on duty brought shame upon his tribe.

The causeway creaked, then splintered off, sending the flame-engulfed Senate falling to the planet below seconds before the section he stood on dropped, as well.

A scream behind him jerked him around. The uz gripped the air-balustrade, then he grabbed nothing as the safety mechanisms failed.

Scrambling for a handhold, he toppled over the side.

Drafe shot forward, the thrust of his boots driving him after the uz.

Touching his neck, he bellowed instructions and warnings to anyone close enough to pick up his signal.

He tucked in his arms, streamlining his body, and aimed for the panicking uz.

Something or someone had killed the reigning ots, their uz servants, and many Qaldreth. Drafe gritted his teeth, fighting the shock stinging his eyes. Wrapping his arms around the uz, he halted his fall, trusting his powered boots to carry their combined weight.

“Do you know who did this?” he asked the gaping Ivoyan. “Did you see who planted the explosive?”

The uz shook his head.

Salvage ships swarmed the plummeting carnage; their safety protocols would halt the platform’s impact and minimize further damage.

Drafe landed on the extended platform of a sec-ship and lowered the Ivoyan.

He stumbled away from Drafe to vomit over the air-balustrade.

A pounding in Drafe’s skull reminded him that he had sustained an injury.

Regardless, he faced the males jogging toward him.

“What happened, Drafe?” Vaen demanded, his black gaze on the chaos around them.

“Hell if I know.” Drafe ran a hand over his face. “I was outside waiting for Nenn to insert a temp-device, and when I unlocked the door, everything exploded.”

“Yet you saved an uz instead of your ot,” Vaen said, a scowl twisting his features. That didn’t bother Drafe when that was Vaen’s usual disposition.

“I take no insult, Vaen.” Drafe sighed, his shoulders drooping at his failure. It might have been better for him to have died in the burning wreckage.

“I will defend you to your commander.” Vaen faced him and gripped Drafe’s upper arm. “If they have their way, you’ll return to Qaldreth in disgrace.”

“I am a Qaldreth warrior of the tribe Moerri. I face my judgment without fear.” Drafe’s symbiotes bounced in agitation, but he ignored them, allowing Vaen to lead him away.

He would argue his case, perhaps the council would listen and send someone to investigate this new species. They had to be behind this catastrophic event or know someone who was.