All eyes shifted to the man on Damien’s right.
Hayden had refused to speak more about the Hetaerae, after identifying them in the ward, other than ensuring rigorous access protocols were established and overseen by the Port Security. “My knowledge is limited and based solely on what I’ve observed in less rigorously managed ports’ markets. As far as I know, the race has no self-identification. They were given the name ‘Hetaerae’ by the Fraxians, a race of ship-dwellers that trade in all things, including slaves. It is an ancient name reflective of their primary function.”
“What job do the younglings do?” an assembly member asked.
“If the Silken Caravan’s shipment was not intercepted, they were slated to serve in brothels or harems.”
A horror-filled silence blanketed the room. While there were many adults who worked in the Pleasure District, they did so of their own volition. Any coercion was illegal and faced severe penalties. The Pleasure District was a restricted area on SPV and access was based on a species’ maturity. Younglings were forbidden from entering the area.
“B-but,” Altamura stammered. Damien felt just as stunned as his father. “They’re younglings.”
“Perhaps, possibly not. Hetaerae mature differently than most species,” Hayden continued. All eyes had turned to the image of the ten small figures entertaining themselves in the ward. “They retain a prepubescent state until they are exposed to an individual that is compatible for mating. When a chance of successful fertilization is present, they transition into their mature form. We have no idea how old those ten individuals are. They might be older than all of us.”
The assembly was quiet. Captain Altamura cleared his throat noisily. “Thank you, Captain Ferrier.”
The room was trying to absorb Ferrier’s briefing. They turned back to Vox, obviously waiting for him to continue.
“Fraxians are not interested in records. They maintain an oral tradition,” said Vox. “And unfortunately, our interrogations of the Versyllians have provided nothing further.”
How could there exist an entire race of people that no one in the galaxy knew enough about them to share it or write it down? Is this what happens when people forget? The lost are cast forth to wander, taken advantage of, and disposed of without comment.
“What is Akros’s official statement on this matter of illegal transport?” demanded Captain Altamura.
Vox steepled his fingers. “He claims that the Silken Caravan exchanged goods with the Fraxian vessel, Taraxacum, near an asteroid belt outside of Alpha Centauri.” Vox paused and then continued, “Akros claims that the Het— Freed were willing passengers that paid for transit to Kurabyss.”
Captain Altamura, as well as the majority of the assembled, looked unconvinced. “Willing?” He snorted.
“Neither physical monitoring nor our empaths detected deceit during the interrogations of the crew,” said Vox.
“That was the accommodation they paid for?” scoffed Altamura.
“They were only to be relocated for the duration of the Silken Caravan’s layover in port. Akros was quite upset at the welder’s mangling of his propulsion paneling when there was an access panel.”
“Wouldn’t have happened if they had cooperated, or didn’t try to hide them.”
Vox nodded in agreement. “As I explained to the Versyllians. Trouble could have been spared for many if they had followed regulations. Akros and another senior crewmember were most upset, but claimed that they acted upon the wishes of their passengers. And... since none left the ship, they broke no customs.”
“The manifests were incorrect. They failed to reflect the ship’s cargo,” Damien asserted. He’d be damned if the Silken Caravan circumvented their infractions. He had the GCC’s approval and authority for SPV’s actions.
Vox didn’t counter his statement, merely added, “Apparently, there have been seizures of previous passengers in other ports that now the ship’s standard procedure is to hide them for the duration of the stay—at the request of the Freed.”
Could this get anymore complicated? A squeak emanated from the opposite end of the table. Medic Fessis looked distraught.
“Now what?” asked Altamura. Fessis fidgeted. “One of the Freed has transitioned, Captain.” His father looked exasperated and turned to Hayden.
Hayden looked grim. “You need to recall all the individuals on the contact list. Once they transition, they have a finite amount of time to absorb the catalyst’s hormones before they expire.”
A frown marred that perfect visage as Damien searched through screen after screen. Vox had told them the extent of the data, but he stubbornly refused to accept that they knew nothing. Concern and annoyance were quickly manifesting into something less healthy—irritation, frustration, and anger. Hayden had no intention of watching his boy brood when he had wooing to do. The Hetaerae situation had been around for generations and wouldn’t be resolved soon, so there was no sense in thinking it would be.
“Let’s go out. I am not eating simulated food again.”
Damien didn’t look up from the screen. “I’m not hungry. Go ahead.”
“Regardless, you need to eat. Up,” he said, smacking him on the flank.
Damien whirled around, shouting, “This needs us! I can’t... I need to make sure we have all that’s available.”
“Is SPV’s intelligence usually wrong? Is Vox incompetent?”
“No.” “Then you need to trust him to do his job, as others trust you to do yours.”
“But—” Damien stammered, his fists clenched at his sides.
“I understand. But as much as you want this fixed now, it’s going to take time. There is a solution, and we’ll work towards it, but you need to let this go. Keep your focus and we can solve this together.” Hayden kissed him on the forehead. “Go get changed.”
“I’m fine,” Damien responded.
“Yes. Yes, you are, but I want you pretty.” Damien raised a brow at that, and Hayden continued, “I need to show you off.” And his boy blushed.
Infinitely better. Damien looked sated. The succulent, fresh food, fine klahouffe, and phenomenal view of the Dragonfly Nebula had fed their senses and soothed them.
It had been a long time since he’d spent more than a few T-units with another, worrying about their needs and desires. The more time he spent with him, the stronger Hayden’s protective instincts became. Even if Damien refused him, he would be bound to him—to care for him and watch over him.
A stroll along the Promenade had brought them to the Aquatic District. Damien fiddled in his pocket; he held a gold coin in his outstretched hand.
“What is this for?” Hayden asked.
“Toss it in The Well. A mer will tell your future,” Damien urged.
“I do not need my future told; I see it before me.” He closed Damien’s fingers around the gold. He seemed embarrassed, yet pleased; he slid the token back into his pocket. Hayden was content to merely watch his boy observe the beauty of SPV’s aquatic life even though he was convinced that one of the mer was following them and attempting to get Damien’s attention. He allowed his hand to slide down from the small of his back and rest on the curve of that delectable ass. It might be crude, but he was not allowing anyone to mistake his intentions. Including Damien.
“With one appetite satisfied, maybe it is time to take care of another,” he whispered in Damien’s ear.
Damien grinned. “What did you have in mind?”
“Somewhere public. I am finding the idea of an audience most satisfactory, and I know you enjoy being the center of attention.”
“The Golden Jackal, so your kin can see us together?”
Hayden growled. “No.” He tightened his arm around Damien. “You will need two bands before I take you back there.” He steered them towards the Pleasure District.
“I was fine before,” Damien quipped.
“Yes. Because you were alone and wearing my band.” Hayden could hear the irritation creeping into his voice.
>
Damien and he were still establishing the boundaries of their relationship, and he didn’t want Caurentian customs interfering. Damien’s natural inclinations, thus far, and youth already followed traditional protocols, and while Hayden could see them comfortably settling into a liberal hierarchy, he didn’t need some archaic Caurentian attempting to impose his views on them or recognizing Damien from before and challenging Hayden. It would not be fair to subject his boy to consequences when Damien had no knowledge of the infraction. Neither would a complaint, against him and his standing, be well timed with the Hetaerae situation in which they were both embroiled. The Golden Jackal and his kin would have to wait.
“And I’m still wearing your band... and have you, too.”
He caressed Damien’s cheek. “Trust me when I say that is not a good idea. We should discuss Caurentian culture soon. But, unless you want to be stripped down, bent over my lap, spanked and displayed for the patrons—then that is not a good place.” He watched Damien’s pulse race as he swallowed a gasp. He drew his fingers through the silver strands, tucking them behind his ear. “If anyone recognized you, they would expect me to punish you. If you were wearing two, they’d assume I already had.”
Damien nodded. He looked a little bit excited by the prospect and a great deal scared. But Hayden was right, it would never be appropriate to impose punishment on his beshert for this, and he had no interest in doing so. He had better ways of exciting his boy.
“What I would like is to dance with you,” Hayden crooned while grabbing hold of Damien’s ass with both hands. “And watch others watching you.”
Damien’s vigorous gyrations had rendered the thin material transparent as it stuck to his body. Nudity was gauche, not that it wasn’t in evidence at Roots. Damien, on the other hand, sheathed and cradled in a diaphanous mist of color, was enticing. Nothing exuded power more than displaying that which was most desired—and right now, that was Damien.
His boy was not oblivious. He knew quite well what he was doing when he rubbed against Hayden or himself, adhering the silk to outline every contour. Eyes followed every pinch, every squeeze, and every hand wandering Damien’s form. On the floor, he’d already had several males and females caress him in passing, each one observant of the possessive hand upon him and seeking approval first. Hayden nodded at the Cirrina who ventured forward tentatively with three tentacles wavering.
Damien gasped as they wrapped around him.
“There isn’t anything I would not give to you,” Hayden whispered as the tentacles suctioned on and off. The tendrils gently exploring, seeking out sensitive places as Damien’s admirer flushed in pleasure with each gasp and moan. Only releasing him and moving on when ink coated the floor. Then Hayden reclaimed the territory others traversed.
“You will never want as my bondmate. All I ask... is that you allow me to give it to you.”
Who Are You?
The tenuous truce forged in the hangar made the small room smaller. Awkward as the situation was, the three had no choice but to assist. Damien was in charge of the SPV’s galactic oversight team, D’spyros headed the investigation team, and Hayden was the only one who knew anything about the younglings, the Hetaerae. Though that name was one Damien was finding increasingly unacceptable since he’d learned of its meaning and imposed origin. What they’d thought was a minor smuggling issue turned out to be a political supernova. He’d be in debriefings for the foreseeable future.
Damien closed the file and handed it back to D’spyros. He wandered over to Hayden who was staring at the viewer and the transformed figure pacing in the adjacent room. Then leaned over and shut it off.
“Do you think your agent will be willing?” Damien asked. “Can’t imagine he says no without trying,” D’spyros answered.
They were all mulling over the consequences of the situation when the panel opened. A large security agent waited for permission before entering. He seemed surprised by all the occupants; he greeted Ferrier formally upon introduction, and then waited to be addressed.
“Thank you for coming in, Brixton.” Damien smiled at the Thylacine who entered the viewing chamber. “I appreciate your quick response.”
“No problem, sir.” He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly,” said D’spyros. “Remember your physical after the Versyllian ship incident?”
“Of course, sir.” Brixton nodded. “After what we saw, I don’t reckon I’ll be forgetting anytime soon.” His voice was laced with regret. The whole crew had been stunned by the younglings’ discovery and all attended the mandated counseling sessions after debriefing.
“Yes. I don’t think any of us will.” D’spyros stepped closer to his agent, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Thing is, those younglings are a species we were unfamiliar with.”
“Is there something wrong with me, sir?” The agent kept his voice even, but Damien could sense a thread of panic starting to unravel his calm.
“No. You’re fine, Brixton. Just fine,” reassured D’spyros. “But there is something you need to know, now.” At his nod, Damien reengaged the viewer.
Brixton’s attention was immediately taken by the sight on the screen. A healthy, young male was circling the room impatiently. He was gorgeous, wide- shouldered and narrow-hipped with a defined musculature that seemed unreal. He was designed to be desired. Suddenly, as if he sensed he was being watched, he stopped and stared straight at them, at the reciprocal screen, his pale-green eyes searching.
“Who’s that?” asked the young security agent, stepping closer to the image.
“One of the younglings.”
Brixton snorted in disbelief and looked at Damien like he’d lost his mind.
“Yes, he was one of those small huddling figures you freed from the Silken Caravan.”
“But... That’s impossible,” sputtered the confused Thylacine. The big agent looked between his commanding officers as if he expected a joke. Their seriousness must have assured him that it was no such thing.
Damien stepped to Brixton’s other side. “He is one of the Freed and he needs your help.”
“You don’t have any bondings noted in your records,” D’spyros stated. Thylacines are a pack species. They lived in groups. Mated in groups. Brixton was still young, but a bonding or two would not have been unusual. “Are they up to date?”
“No bondings, sir.” Brixton was staring at the young Hetaerae. “Yes, they are current.”
“Do you find him attractive?” Hayden quietly asked.
Brixton turned at the newly posed question, blinked, and then turned back to watch the screen. “Yes.”
“Good,” said Hayden. Hayden let him view the male for a while and then asked, “Enough to consider a relationship?”
This time Brixton didn’t bother to stop staring at the screen when he quietly answered, “Yes.”
“Excellent. There’s no easy way to say this,” Hayden calmly continued. “You are why he transformed. You are his mate.”
Brixton spun around at the revelation. He seemed perplexed. “Me?” Then looked back at the screen. “I can’t bond with him. He’s a male.”
There was a moment of silence before Damien bristled, “He’s gonna—”
Hayden put a hand on Damien to wait. “Why not?”
“I’m a sentry, sir.” He stated it as if obvious. “My bondmate was going to carry our pups. I can’t—” Brixton collected himself and stopped rambling. He was shaking his head, then jerked upright. “Do they... Can he breed?”
“We don’t really know anything, but tests and scans have not shown any reproductive organs capable of nurturing or carrying offspring.”
Each one of them understood Brixton’s dilemma. While both male and female Thylacines could carry young, it altered their physiology significantly to nurture a litter successfully. Hormones and reassignment of body resources meant that Brixton would unlikely be able to resume fieldwork as a sentry. Add in any pack obligations he mig
ht have, changing position from sentry to a breeder would be highly disruptive both personally and professionally. The young male looked stunned.
D’spyros put his arm around his subordinate and gave him a squeeze. “I know this is a shock. I know it is something you never thought you’d have to face.”
Damien felt sympathy for Brixton and the abrupt, imminent changes. Even now he could see the male leaning to touch the screen, almost as if he could connect with his waiting bondmate.
“I don’t want you to feel compelled, but there are extenuating circumstances—his well-being is dependent on you agreeing to a bonding,” D’spyros concluded.
Brixton nodded.
Both Hayden and Spyros were avoiding the truth, but like the black hole at the center of every galaxy, it couldn’t be ignored. “If nothing else, meet him and then decide. If you deny him, Brixton, he’s going to die,” said Damien.
Spyros glared at him, and Damien ignored him. If Brixton had to make a decision, he needed to know all the consequences.
Damien stared at the GCC logo when the message concluded. A full investigation was underway and intel assets were being sought to infiltrate the ports and starbases Ferrier had given in his testimony for the Hetaerae. Damien knew that Hayden had signed up for a mission as he lay in his arms last night.
“Are you interested?” asked Captain Altamura. He was definitely the captain and not his father at this moment. “I will only accept volunteers for the GCC’s mission.” His father stopped pacing and turned to look Damien in the eye. “I’d much rather you refuse, but with your interest in Ferrier, I don’t think either of you is ready to separate.”
Damien knew his father was worried he’d choose to accompany Hayden to the questionable ports where he’d seen others like the Freed, and that he’d be in danger. But to send Hayden alone into danger seemed worse than leaving his father to wait.
“Yes, Captain.”
Matters of State (Space Portal Vector Book 2) Page 4
