Page 4

Chapter Two

Etterian Battleship Gladio

Comms Room

Cylo pressed a hand on either side of the spray’s nozzle, tipping his head into the water and letting it pour over him.

He gargled and flicked his head, his hair curling outward in relish.

He grabbed his malehood, shivering at the touch.

Attending to this task was required of all Etterian warriors, and this morning, a chore it was.

A few quick pumps summoned the expected response—a lackluster fulfillment.

He was mid-dry when Afax’s voice reverberated from Cylo’s O.D.I. implanted in his wrist. “Asteroid incoming.”

Eagerness exploded through Cylo, more than his chore had sparked. He tapped the blue button, ending the dryer.

“On my way.” He marched to the replicator to order his armor for the day. “ Malia pa ,” he muttered, catching his braided hair and snapping the clip on the end to stop it from unraveling.

Minutes later, he stood in the common, gripping the controller, his gaze on the tiny vid in his hands.

Jerking to the right wasn’t necessary, but in his many drone mining expeditions, he hadn’t yet learnt to keep his body immobile and only move his arms. Still, the drone veered right, dodging a geyser of gas.

Scans had shown the asteroid to be carrying gold.

The chance of a nugget was too much to resist.

“Have you found anything?” Ronan asked, peering over Cylo’s shoulder.

“Not yet,” he managed through gritted teeth, not daring to blink, let alone glance at him.

Cylo’s muscles ached from the constant tension. Not that he’d give up the experience for all the Maloidian steel in the known universe. A dot on the top right pulsed faster, indicating that he neared the target. Oh, to be able to inlay gold into a dagger’s hilt…

A bright flash had him hitting the switch to halt the drone. A nudge to the left and right positioned it above the source. He tapped the center button then laughed. Excitement flooded his chest with warmth, reminding him to control his reactions better. He did but left a small smile.

In his quarters might have been preferable, able to soften his control. But the way his battle-bonds gathered around him meant they too shared in his enjoyment. He couldn’t deny them that.

“By my calculations, this asteroid must have collided with another object to send it off its orbital path.” Tias sipped his giyua juice, observing from across the common. “No planet nearby has a strong enough gravitational pull to have snagged it.”

Cylo smirked. “So, you are saying I am lucky?”

Tias scoffed. “Luck is for the weak.”

Cylo dismissed him, liking the idea that luck had played a role. Regardless, here, now, he could spend the next hour searching for gold.

“Cylo to the Hollow,” Afax called through the intercom system.

“Alodon’s balls,” Cylo hissed, straightened, then forced himself to smother his disappointment. A summons to an interrogation could only come from his superior, Operations Commander Malo, and he dared not keep the male waiting.

Tias flicked his fingers. “I will get you your gold,” he said.

As a data officer, Cylo trusted him to do so more than any of his fellow warriors.

“If I fail, we can follow this asteroid’s path for a day or two longer.” Tias slid the controller out of Cylo’s grip then nudged him toward the door.

He marched along the passages to the Hallow—Malo’s private interrogation room. Outside the door waited Trav.

“He is not in a good mood,” he said by way of greeting.

“Why so?” Cylo asked, facing the door.

“Afax says we have been commanded to escort a Serratu Kayarra.” Trav grinned. “She will be my first.”

“She is Imarri ag Zennr, Operative,” Malo snapped, stepped back, and gestured to them both to enter the room. “The favor is on behalf of Prince Citus. Any dalliance with the Maloidian operative would bring dishonor upon him.”

“Not to mention that to do so would make us vulnerable to her skills?” Trav said, sliding into the room to lean against the solid Maloidian steel bulkhead.

“As pleasant as I imagine such an interlude would be, it is not worth the risk,” Cylo said, standing beside Trav. Instead of relaxing, he chose to mimic Malo’s stiff posture.

A five-by-five cube with gray walls, floor, and ceiling was impenetrable. Bolted to the floor was a steel table. For now, bright light filled the room, reaching into its dark corners. When needed, shadows could be enhanced enough to hide a warrior.

Malo paced the tight confines. “There are rumors of a Maloidian joining forces with Yithians. This does not bode well.”

Cylo remained silent. Given time, Malo would reveal the reason behind the summons.

“Their addiction to bargains, the availability of billions of Earthians, and Earth’s uncaring government enables an exploitation Maloidians would not be able to resist. I should have foreseen this though one Maloidian does not mean it should be a concern.”

“We have battleships guarding their planet, do we not?” Trav asked.

“Indeed.” Malo splayed his fingers on the table. “Still, we shall interrogate the Maloidian slave dealer and pray he values his life more than a deal.” He tapped his O.D.I. “Bring him in.”

The door opened to a yellow-skinned male. His tentacle-hair swayed as if underwater, serene in stark comparison to his dire circumstances.

“What is this?” he spluttered, glaring at Operative Ronan, who nudged him deeper into the room.

“Geffa, sit.” Malo pulled out a chair with his booted foot.

The Maloidian hesitated. The spots from his brow to his hairline darkened. He sank onto the seat and clasped his hands between his thighs. “I…do not understand why I am here…with you.” He snuck a glance at Malo then lowered it.

“This I cannot believe.” Malo smirked for a moment before darkness consumed his expression. “King Xeus announced at the last Global Council meeting that Earthians are under Etterian protection.” He tutted. “Of course, I am most surprised at finding a few in your care… And against their will.”

Geffa blustered. “They agreed—”

Malo slapped the table, drawing a squeak from the prisoner. “Am I a fool?” Malo angled his head at Cylo. “What does the buzz say? Have I lost my well-earned reputation? Has the universe ceased to fear my name?”

“It must be so, Operations Commander,” Cylo said, smothering a chuckle. “Perhaps you should demonstrate how well you protect Etteria?”

Malo grunted and withdrew his dagger, its blade glinting in the bright lighting. He spun it and offered it to Cylo, hilt first.

Cylo accepted and took a moment to admire the infamous dagger Malo’s father had given him. The edge appeared razor sharp, typical of Maloidian steel. Even blunt, it would slice through bone with ease.

“Tell me, Geffa, who instigated your last mission?” Cylo leaned his hip on the edge of the table, hoping to convey a casual air. It might calm the Maloidian after meeting Malo.

“Um…” Geffa swallowed hard, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow. “I met a Yithian—”

“Where? Who?” Cylo studied the male. “And what did he say to entice you onto this path of death?”

“A slave ship threatened to blow up my little shuttle.” Geffa sniffed.

Horror sent a chill down Cylo’s spine. A male crying?

He soothed an impending shudder. To feel is to fail—the Etterian motto they all embodied.

Apparently, the Maloidians had no such creed.

Well, not one that mattered. They lived for bargains.

Thankfully, Cylo didn’t need to deal with them like Prince Citus had to as Etteria’s ambassador.

“So instead of fleeing, you formed a partnership with the most untrustworthy race in our known galaxy?” Cylo arched a brow.

“That is your opinion,” Geffa snapped, showing some fire. “Maloidians find no fault with Yithians.”

“Tokens are tokens,” Cylo said, casting a glance at Malo with his arms folded across his chest. “You would sell your mother if she gained you an above-fair price.”

Geffa spluttered.

“Do not bother denying it.” Cylo flicked his hand. “Your Ambassador Barro has taught us much about your culture.”

Geffa dipped his chin, averting his solid-black gaze.

“Nothing ill to say about such a prestigious male?” Cylo splayed his hands on the table, trapping the dagger.

“He is too ambitious, and he would sell his mother,” Geffa spat.

“No lost favor between you two,” Cylo mused.

“I do not know him, nor does he know me.” Geffa raised his chin in adorable defiance. “We have not met.”

“And yet, you united with Yithia in their quest to farm the Earthians. That sounds like an ambassadorial role.”

Geffa scowled. “We took one female and returned her soon after. She was most unpleasant. I would rather face a sogair in a…room like this.”

Cylo hummed at that bit of nonsense. “Are you saying a race known for its mercy delivered the female to her home? Did not jettison her from the nearest airlock?”

Geffa’s yellow skin paled.

“It is as I thought.” Cylo spun the dagger then passed it to Malo. “I am not in the mood to spill blood today, so if you would be so kind as to tell me everything I want to know, I will ensure your life is spared. Lie to me once, and your outcome will not be so positive.”

“Good. Keep up the pressure,” Malo muttered, too low for the Maloidian to hear.

“I am waiting, Geffa.” Cylo flashed a charming smile. “Or would you prefer I hand you over to Malo to deal with? He is most anxious to demonstrate his skills.”

“Oh, I am?” Malo growled.

“They offered me a choice. Help kidnap these females or die.” Geffa scoffed. “I was forced into this. She was not our first, but she was the last. The two before her…died.”

Ice coated Cylo’s heart, eradicating any good humor he was in. “How?” he asked, his tone clipped.

“One punched the Yithian in the face and scraped her knuckles over his teeth.” Geffa trembled, his lips flapping as if he was about to vomit. “The other…I was told, threw herself out of the launching shuttle.”