“So he does love you then?” Henessa looks at her, hopeful, but not sure what to make of this conversation.
“Does it matter? He’s a hazard to our goals. If we don’t make inroads into Ven space, we will lose the progress we’ve gained through our research and knowledge. We will be unable to capitalize on our goals. If he either learns of our goals or tries to stop us, we will be forced to deal with him as well, and I don’t see a point in squandering what resources we have.” Kala sits in her chair, trying to pull her own emotions in line. “Did we give the colony the medical supplies they needed?”
“Yes. The governor inspected them this morning with his hazmat teams.” Henessa knows her friend needs support right now, but the challenge is knowing how to support her. She knows, for good reason, Kala is far more confused than she’s ever been.
“Good. We need to dinner this evening together on the Enpassant. Zaren said there is an announcement, and under the circumstance, there is much that needs to be planned and discussed for our teams.” Kala’s tone is authoritative, but she needs the distraction more than anything.
“Absolutely.” Henessa responds briefly, the asks, “Do you still love him?”
Kala’s face curls up. “Love Yatrell Jae? The man who wished me dead at the hands of my masters? The man who turned on me when I needed him most? The man who replaced me mere months after I was silent to protect him? Why should you feel the need to ask that?”
“He’s also the man who apologized not even twelve hours later. He’s also the man who is as confused as you are right now. From what I can tell, he’s missed you. A lot.” Henessa stated her observations as plainly as possible.
Kala changed the subject. “I’ll manage the final communication with the governor, and update the fleet with our new orders. I’ll see you at the end of shift. Dismissed.” Kala starts to sort through her data tablets.
Henessa leaves, wishing she could do more, and still not sure that Kala is ready for more.
~*~
Yatrell walks out of the conference room and is greeted by a taller blond woman with a side arm. “Come with me, Fleet Commander. It is time you made your way back to your ship.”
He follows in silence. As he does, he notices that he is having trouble hearing her thoughts as well; this again takes him by surprise.
She helps him by explaining, “On this ship and among this fleet, you would be wise to maintain whatever psionic blockers you can possibly use to keep your mind your own. The senior staff members of one tenth of this fleet are well trained psionics.”
He responds to her, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He follows her down a well lit corridor, and around a corner. She stops short of a doorway, not far from the end of the otherwise empty hall. “What is it?”
The blond woman looks at him with the most serious of expressions. “If you want to see her again, and you want any hope of getting through to her, don’t leave the area. Send your ships to do their job along the border, but don’t leave the area.”
Confused, Yatrell asks, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because she is one of my closest friends and because I’m tired of seeing the agony you caused her. Days before you did that to her, she stood for my bonding ceremony. She needed you more than she was able to express in that moment, and you turned on her. She gave up training, meals, and resources to help you through your coma. She risked herself and her ability to function when she helped the Dentonians identify the Ven fleet. For a while after, we thought she was dead.”
Henessa let her words sink in. “All she could tell my mate, before she did what she had to, was that she couldn’t let you down. Since your last conversation, I have watched her suffer heart break without understanding what it was. She has slowly lost touch with the gentle nature we knew of her. You had better make this right. I don’t care how you do this, but you had better do it.” Henessa speaks in a firm tone. “I promise you this; there is a significant portion of at least one ship that would like your head. A few of us would like to be the one to take it. She’s never once done anything to anyone that justifies the pain you caused her. She has not deserved to suffer as she has, or become as cold as she has toward many. She deserves better. What I just saw of her, deserves better than you isn’t the question, but deserves better from you is.”
Yatrell looks away from her, “I’ll stay around the area. I’ll keep three of my ships here, and we’ll try to find … I’ll try to find a way to fix this.”
Just bear in mind, if you don’t hold to your word, Yatrell Jae, mine may be the last face you see in life.” She steps from his way, and gestures toward the door next to them. “Your platform home is within that room. I have dinner arrangements to manage, and a team to assess before alpha shift ends.”
Yatrell looks into the piercing blue eyes of the blond woman before him. “Thank you.”
He walks into the room, and steps on the relocation platform. He is distracted enough by the conversation that the crewman has to remind him to provide the coordinates. He complies, and is enveloped by a soft noise and a bright light. He arrives on the Rexion again, with his mind racing more than before he left.
Stepping off, he walks to the control panel, and selects the fleet ships of choice. He sends a request to their captains to report to his office in short order. He then projects to Brax to join them as he strides out of his relocation room, down the hall, and onto a lift. His mind whirls with regret and guilt, but he continues to his office and to wait on the arrival of his closest friends. He struggles with the approach, but he knows at least one of them will understand his choice, likely two. By the time he sits behind his desk, Brax is entering his office from the living quarter’s door.
~She’s alive isn’t she?~ Brax isn’t about to hesitate. He felt her earlier while she and Yatrell were talking. Now is not a time for him to hide his knowledge of her.
~Yes. She’s alive. She’s been hiding from me all of this time. I need to make this right by her. I don’t know how, or what will come of it, but I need to try.~ Yatrell projects to his brother by hearts as Anara, Canith, and Set enter the room from the bridge side of his office. “Please, sit down guys.”
Each one takes a seat. Anara knows the change she sees in him. She remains quiet, waiting on him to start the conversation.
“I want to send the other ships down the patrol line but I want the Sumbient, Thox, and Taxlor to remain behind with the Rexion.” Yatrell sits back and looks from one friend to the other. “Several things became clear in my conversation with the Xenonian Fleet Commander. The first, and farthest from the least, is that many of our goals are the same. If we can manage some kind of diplomatic tie to their first fleet, we may find a stronger ally against the Ven. Under the circumstances, we need that.”
Set is the first to speak up. “That’s not a bad choice, but we saw what she did to the last person who tried to negotiate with her.”
“This is Dexel we’re talking about. What approach do you really think he took for that?” Yatrell looks at his friend in a very matter-of-fact manner. “His not a diplomat. He is one heck of a … was one heck of a fighter. After speaking with her today, I’m inclined that was what he tried to do.”
Canith asks, “Aren’t we supposed to apprehend her?”
“I’ll deal with that issue in the morning. Contact with the senate is three days out from here. That gives us six to forge an alliance worth having. Or, at the very least, lay the foundation for one.” Yatrell’s answer appears to satisfy Canith for the moment.
“How do you propose we go about forging this alliance, oh great leader?” Anara knows there is more to what Yatrell is saying, and her tone carries that thought clearly. .
“That’s why you’re here. I have no clue how to get through to women.” Yatrell chuckles nervously, and projects to her, ~As you know better than anyone.~
“Well, let’s start by building on our common ground. We’re here to keep the Ven out of our space, and to protect our people.”
Set begins his statement with a certainty. “She’s a military woman, so she’s not one who will want to talk about minimalistic things. What if we start by discussing a trade? Something like… maybe similar technologies. Perhaps we can discuss engine designs or comparison of light ride engines or relocation systems. Something of that nature should get her attention, and allow her to see our good intentions.”
Yatrell smiles broadly. “Fantastic start. Set, can you draw up the proposal tonight?”
His response to the Fleet Commander is fast. “Certainly.”
Canith then suggests, “We should invite her for a meet and greet. Maybe her and her senior captain or staff for dinner.”
“Great idea, Canith. Let’s plan that for three days from now and we will obviously hold it on the Rexion. All of you are expected.” Yatrell starts to sound excited. He starts to gain hope that he might be able to show Kala his good intentions.
Anara speaks up. “She’s a woman. She’ll appreciate these gestures without a doubt, but you will want time to discuss and plan things with her. Make it a point to contact her, yourself, when you can find a reason to. This will allow her to see you’re dedicated to the goal you are proposing. Keep it to business.”
Yatrell looks into Anara’s soft brown eyes, and sees something he missed for so long, tenderness. “I’ll make sure to make it part of my daily routine. So we have a good start. Let’s get to work on additional ideas. Dismissed.” He smiles as his friends leave for dinner.
Anara waits until Set and Canith have stepped out of the room before she turns to Yatrell and Brax. Anara is unable to hide her air of suspicion when she asks, “What’s the Fleet Commander’s name, Yatrell?”
Yatrell’s stomach ties in knots for a moment before he just blurts out, “Kala. She is Kala of Xenonia. She’s a former slave, that’s why the reports have not given her a house.”
Anara doubles over and leans against a wall for a moment. She breathing becomes labored as she comes to terms with the situation. The picture made it clear, but hearing him say it feels like someone slammed her in the abdomen. In a shaky voice she asks, “So, she’s alive? Sontair lives?”
Yatrell hangs his head. “Yes, Anara, she lives. She’s been hiding herself from me all of this time. I need to make things right by her.”
Anara closes her eyes and takes a deep breath as she regains composure, “Yatrell, if all you did is deny you hearts to her, you’ve done no damage to make right.”
He studies his hands as he responds to Anara. “I did more than that, Anara. My last conversation with her before she …disappeared… was to tell her I’d not help her for anything, even if the result of my not helping her was her death. She was a slave, needing a champion to free her under Xenonian law. I refused. There’s more, but that’s the first wrong.”
Anger suddenly takes hold of Anara. “How could you do that to one you call Sontair?” Confusion settles in, and her hearts crumble at the weight of this realization.
“They had just named me captain, and things got sorted over here. I was still mourning Rex, and I didn’t even realize fully what I was saying. She didn’t deserve that. All she did was love me, and …” Agony encompasses Yatrell’s features. “I need to make this right, Anara. If it hurts you too much to watch or meet her or any of this, then take lead along the border, and I’ll figure this out from here. I couldn’t handle hurting both of you again.”
Although she’s confused by the whole situation she knows how much Yatrell agonizes over what he did. Softly, she responds, “Now I know why she has haunted you for so long. You injured Sontair. You sentenced her to death among her people.” A tear falls for what he did to Kala, and she looks into his eyes. “Yes, Yatrell you have to make this right. I would not be much of a friend, if I didn’t offer you my support. I may love you, but you found a unique kind of love with her, and she with you. Make this right, Yatrell, at all costs.”
He looks at her, hurting once again for not understanding himself enough to appreciate her entirely. “I promise I will.” He pauses briefly. “Anara, thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s not like this won’t hurt me. It’s not like I won’t feel jealous, but I’d rather you happy than to watch what you’ve done to yourself over the last year and a half.” She turns and walks out the door, then calls over her shoulder. “Brax, you should join me for dinner. I’m going down to the planet, and would welcome the company. I think your brother needs some time alone.”
Brax chuckles. “I’ll meet you in the primary relocation room shortly.” He watches her disappear through the door before turning to Yatrell. “Brother, few people get a second chance. I will help you in any way possible, as long as you don’t squander this.”
“Believe me, Brax, there is no way I’m going to squander this opportunity.” Yatrell looks up at his friend. “I have never felt like this about anyone, and I will never make the effort to do so again. This is Sontair, and I will do everything in my ability to prove to her I can still be her Konair.”
Hi,
Thank you for reading to the end of the first book in the Xarrokian series. There are many more to come. This is the first of a four part foundation for the Xarrok series, and franchise. Following The Beginning is Consequences. Homecoming is the third book in the series. The Fall winds the Birth of the Empire series out. I am finding more inspiration and creativity flowing out of me.
If you’ve enjoyed the book, please feel free to visit the facebook fanpage, or my website for the universe. You can also connect with me on twitter. Remember, every review helps continue the growing series. I’m looking forward to connecting with you soon.
Long Live Xarrok
~Catrina~
http://facebook.com/Xarrok http://xarrok.com http://twitter.com/theladywrites
Escape From Zulaire
A Sectors Novel
By Veronica Scott
My Blog: http://veronicascott.wordpress.com/
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Cover Art by Fiona Jayde
DEDICATION
To my daughters Valerie and Elizabeth
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
Heartfelt thanks to the Formatting Fairies!
Chapter One
This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever done as assistant planetary agent for Loxton Galactic Trading—standing in as a bridesmaid in a borrowed puce dress because some other girl failed to show up. Andi Markriss sighed, feeling the garment binding too tight across her chest. I didn’t mind representing the company as a guest, but this is way outside the line of duty.
Early afternoon on Zulaire was too warm for an outdoor ceremony, but the Planetary High Lord’s spoiled daughter Lysanda didn’t care to be ready any earlier in the day. Her guests’ comfort wasn’t a consideration.
An inch at a time, Andi shifted from her assigned spot into the shade cast by the towering stone pillars. How did I get talked into this? Oh, yes, Lysanda wept, and her mother made vague threats about her husband reviewing our shipping contracts. As the musicians played, Andi turned, watching Lysanda pace toward the dais in time to the music, smiling for her groom-to-be.
The local priest took a deep breath and launched into a lengthy blessing, invoking the deity and relating the history of the planet’s three Clans—Obati, Shenti and Naranti. Andi chanted along with him under her breath. Overlords, Second Class and Neutrals, as her boss had told her when she’d arrived on Zulaire six years ago. Easy to keep them straight that way, he’d said, but don’t ever slip and use the nicknames out loud.
“This young pair from two of the highest families will cement our peace,” the priest proclaimed, lowering his arms and beaming at Princess Lysanda and her intended. “Their offspring will embody the uni
on of Obati and Shenti blood.”
Applause from the crowd, led by the bride’s mother, made the officiant blush. As he bowed, Lysanda blew her mother a kiss.
That ovation will spur him to more oratory for sure. Andi smothered a sigh, wiggling her aching toes, held too tight in the borrowed silver sandals. I thought the last three weeks of engagement parties, picnics and games out here in the summer compound were endless, but this ceremony tops them all.
“The bride and groom will now light the symbolic candles.” The priest led the pair to the side altar, where a trio of candles—blue, green and ivory—had been set into massive golden holders. Representing the three Clans, the candle ritual reinforced the political symbolism of this ceremony. Everything symbolic on Zulaire came in threes, Andi thought, watching the couple light each candle in turn.
Sneezing violently as the slight afternoon breeze carried colorful but pungent smoke from the burning tapers in her direction, she earned herself a glare and a hissed “Shh!” from the woman standing next to her. After taking a deep, cleansing breath of the fragrant bouquet she’d been clutching, Andi gave the other attendant a faint smile.
Lysanda had argued long and hard with her mother earlier about allowing Andi to substitute for the unaccountably missing handmaiden. Only the fact that without Andi to partner him, an important groomsman would be omitted from the ceremony swayed the decision. Good for Loxton’s business networking that I’m here. The Planetary Lord’s family owes me personally now for preserving the precious symmetry of Lysanda’s wedding party, at the cost of my aching feet. With a flash of amusement at the ludicrous situation, Andi smiled. Lucky for the princess, I accepted the invitation on behalf of Loxton, not my portly boss.
Tuning out the priest’s new recitation of more sacred writings, since the man had a nasal voice and a tendency to repeat himself, Andi studied the intricate carvings in the shiny black stone wall of the pavilion across from her, details brought to clarity by the slanting sun’s rays.
Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars Page 144
