“Thank you Palavi,” several voices chimed together.
Conall wasn’t hungry. His mind was still churning over what the royals had said. Lukas had waved off the danger, but it was obvious that his mates were concerned. It made him wonder if they were threatening just Lukas, or all Earthers.
Everyone got up from their seats and followed Palavi into an adjoining room, where food was spread out buffet-style. Conall hung back and let everyone precede him until it was just him and Brogan. Conall wanted to hurry into the other room away from the male, but if his family were in danger on this planet, he needed to know.
Conall squared his shoulders and approached the black-clad guard.
“Brogan? I’m Conall MacLeod.”
He held out his hand in greeting, and the male shook it. His grip was firm, and sent a tingle up his arm from where they touched. What the hell?
“It is nice to meet you,” Brogan replied with a slight smile.
“Mind if I have a moment?”
“Of course,” Brogan answered. “What can I do for you?”
Conall lowered his voice a bit, just to be sure the others wouldn’t hear him in the next room.
“I want to ask you about the threats that Lukas has been receiving. Have any been made towards other Earthers?”
Brogan took a moment to think about the question. “If you’re asking specifically about your family—no, we haven’t intercepted any threats made against anyone else.”
Conall breathed a small sigh of relief.
“But you’re right to be concerned about such things,” Brogan continued. “I believe that the anti-Earther sentiment will only escalate after Lukas is crowned High King.”
The relief Conall’d been feeling evaporated. Brogan noticed.
“You worry for your family. That’s admirable.”
Conall wasn’t sure why, but those words made him proud. It was stupid—of course he wanted to protect his family. Any person would want the same. But Brogan’s words made him a little too pleased with himself.
Why? He’d never worried about what other men thought of him before. Why should he start now, with this one?
Perhaps it was because Brogan was intense. Now that Conall was getting a closer look at him, he could tell that Brogan was dressed in a uniform which wasn’t made from ordinary fibers. He also had weapons peeking out from all over his body; one at his waist, two in his boot, there was even a glint of metal from under the large wristunit on his forearm.
When Brogan’s eyes met his, Conall’s attention was grabbed by an unusual glint in his right eye. The iris was green, but it had a strange geometric pattern on it. Is it bionic?
Everything about this male screamed protection. Conall’d never felt so helpless.
“What I’ve told you has made you more nervous.” Brogan said it as a statement, not a question.
Conall gave a single nod, and his eyes drifted to the doorway where he could see Oliver on the other side, ladling food onto his plate.
“If we were back home on Earth, I’d know how to respond to rising political tensions, but not here. On this planet, I have no idea how to protect them.”
Brogan followed his line of sight. “I do,” he stated. “I’ll come set up a security network at your home.”
The offer was generous. Too generous. Conall’d had enough of charity. “You don’t have to do that,” he argued.
“I’d be happy to,” Brogan answered. “Actually, it’s a hobby of mine.”
Conall was about to object, but Brogan’s eyes met his and the words died on his tongue.
“Let me do this for you,” Brogan insisted in a lower voice. “For you, and for your family.”
Conall found himself nodding. What was it about this man? Why were his thoughts suddenly so jumbled?
Thankfully he was saved from having to think too much about it by Oliver coming over with his plate piled high with food. The corner of Conall’s mouth quirked up. It wasn’t too long ago that Oliver refused to even try Arathian food. Now the lad was constantly stuffing his face with it.
“Da’, Grandma Clare sent me to come get you. Everyone’s sitting down to eat,” Oliver told him.
“I’ll be right there,” Conall replied. “Brogan, this is my son, Oliver. Oliver, this is Lieutenant Brogan.”
The male gave a slight bow. “Nice to meet you, Oliver.”
“You too. What’s that?” Oliver asked, pointing to the piece of technology on Brogan’s forearm. It was at least six inches long, and almost looked like a larger version of Reus’s wristunit. Brogan held out his arm so Oliver could get a better look.
“This is a special wristunit that Karo designed for me and the other Guards. It lets us bring up information, and remotely control things around us.”
“Wicked!” Oliver exclaimed, before asking, “Does it control people?”
Brogan chuckled. “No. It controls anything with computer components. I’ll show you sometime, if it’s okay with your father.”
Oliver turned hopeful eyes to him, and Conall smirked. The lad always wanted to play with gadgets. The more alien, the better.
“Not right now,” Conall told him. “Go sit at the table, and tell your Gran that I’ll be there in a moment.”
Oliver nodded, and walked away, shoveling food into his mouth as he went. Conall heard his mother admonish his son for eating with his fingers as he turned back towards Brogan.
“I should go. Thanks for the offer to set up the security network. Do you need me to give you my… ahhh… number, so that you can call me when you’re ready?”
My number? When did I turn into a nervous teenager?
The corner of Brogan’s lips quirked ever so slightly. “It’s alright, I’ll manage. Give me a couple of days to sort out the details and I’ll contact you.”
Conall nodded. He had no clue what else to say to the man. He simultaneously wanted to continue talking to him, and run away. He chose the cowardly way out.
“I’ll see you then,” he lamely replied, before heading into the dining room.
What the hell is wrong with me?!
CHAPTER 7
Brogan fought a chuckle as Conall walked away to join his family. The Earther was a unique male. From his demeanor and his coloring, to his role within the family, Brogan was intrigued—and looking forward to spending more time with him in the coming days. For right now, he had a job to do: a job that Lukas was making more difficult with his obstinance.
He turned on his heel and headed towards the western wing of the palace. From there, he exited the main residence, walked twenty feet, and entered the headquarters of the Royal Guard.
Affectionately referred to as the “Guard Shack,” the large building included: individual bedrooms and bathrooms, meeting spaces, offices for the high-ranking officers, and common areas, like a Dining and Recreation Center. It had been his home for the past fifteen years, ever since he’d begun his training.
Brogan was damn proud to be a Guard. He’d worked hard for years, and was now in charge of his own unit. He had good people working under him: males and a female whom he’d hand-picked and trained to be the best of the best. Good thing, too. He’d need them more than ever in the coming weeks.
Ever since Lukas, Jayda, and Deian had announced to the High Council, and subsequently the entire planet, that they were pregnant, the anti-Earther sentiment had gotten more heated. It was still only a small portion of the population, but what was once peaceful protests with people holding signs, had turned into brawls in the streets.
The local law enforcement was doing a fantastic job of keeping the citizens safe while recognizing their right to protest, but it was a slippery slope. Brogan and the Guards were doing the best they could from their end.
He turned down the nearest hall and walked into the command center, referred to as “the hub.” It was controlled chaos, even at this time in the evening.
Large vid screens covered the outer walls, while the center of the large room was a se
a of consoles. Brogan entered his private office on the right wall (a perk of being a lieutenant), and the noise dimmed to a dull rumble. No sooner had his ass met his chair, than Iliona, his second in command, entered the room.
“How’s everyone at the big house?” she asked. “Big house” meaning the palace.
“Good.”
She nodded once.
Her propensity to be concise was one of the things Brogan liked about the female. She never wasted time on two words when one did the job.
“I spent the day following up on the replicator ration logs,” Iliona reported. “We got five hits. Three were businesses. I sent Anders and Rebus to follow up on them all, and instructed them to make sure they’re shown proof of what the products are being used for.”
Replicators were a type of technology that’d completely revolutionized Arathian society. They could create anything, from food to electronic components. Some effects were positive, like the complete elimination of hunger and malnutrition; but some were dangerous. Since they produced things on a molecular level, in theory, replicators could create anything.
When they had first been released to the public, restrictions were put into effect to safeguard the population. For instance, the machines were incapable of replicating weapons, drugs, or harmful chemicals. But there was no stopping someone from gathering seemingly innocuous components, and combining them together on their own. Even though the replicators kept a log of each person’s replications, components like these were hard to trace, since they didn’t raise any red flags.
Some of the planet’s wealthiest families had replicators in their own homes, but most people relied on stations scattered in every city around Arath. No matter what version of replicator the public used, or where they spent their rations, all of the machines had the same protocols in place.
Brogan’s team was trying to stay current on new techniques for skirting the replicators’ protocols, and intercepting individuals who made anything suspicious. It was like trying to read the enemy’s mind—a difficult thing to accomplish.
“Have Anders and Rebus checked back in?” Brogan asked Iliona.
“Not yet. I’ll alert you when they do.”
Brogan gave a single nod. “What about Oset’s assignment?”
Iliona tapped her wristunit, and a console came to life mid-air. She quickly navigated through her messy virtual desktop and found the report she wanted. She moved her hand towards Brogan’s desk, and the file opened on his own, large console.
She explained what he was looking at.
“In Oset’s latest report, he states that he eavesdropped on a meeting held by the Anti-Earther Movement last night. A crew of eight discussed how they could interfere with the coronation ceremony. They were spitballing ideas, but nothing was settled.”
Brogan looked over the file quickly, but there was nothing else. Oset had been spying on the Anti-Earther Movement from a nearby building for the past two weeks. With a clear line of sight from his building to theirs, he could use tech to hear everything that went on inside. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been at it long enough to hear all of their plans, or who all was involved. They needed more recon if they were going to head-off any serious threats towards the royals.
Damn Lukas for not taking these threats more seriously. The male was notorious for doing everything he could to ensure his mates’ safety, but when it came to his own, he had a strange laissez faire attitude.
Lukas didn’t realize how much the planet was counting on him, or how much the Arathians adored him and his mates. The Anti-Earther Movement was a very small percentage of the population—nearly minuscule. Most everyone admired him. They were grateful for him saving their planet from the Lazools, and knew that Earthers may be the race that would save all of Arath from extinction.
“Let me know if anything new comes in,” Brogan instructed Iliona. She moved to exit his office, but he stopped her.
“One more thing. I’m going to install a Type 3 security system at the MacLeod’s estate tomorrow. Replicate everything in that package for me, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” She turned on her heel and walked out.
*****
Onalee exited the small autotransport that was for her particular use—the poor thing had barely been taken out of the garage until recently. She smoothed down her custom-designed outfit, and hefted a bag onto her shoulder.
She’d been tutoring Oliver for a week now, and although they were making great strides, he had a lot of catching up to do. He’d missed several foundational concepts that were taught on Arath, so now he was struggling to follow his lessons.
To help him, Onalee had spent the morning replicating him a device that would project information three-dimensionally throughout his classroom. She hoped that it would help him better visualize his space lessons. It was very difficult to teach someone about the four dimensions, when they were only looking at a two-dimensional console.
As Onalee walked up the front path towards the house, she waved at two gardeners who were planting flowers, shrubs, and trees, and looked around for Clare. The woman wouldn’t be too far away. She lived for gardening, and was either outside helping the landscapers, or overseeing the construction of the giant greenhouse that was being built adjacent to the main home.
Onalee scanned the front garden until she saw sunlight glinting off of red hair. The color was more subdued than Conall and Oliver’s, but was never-the-less eye-catching.
“Good morning, Clare!” Onalee called happily.
Clare’s head popped up. “Morning, dearie!”
She rounded the hedge and enveloped Onalee in a warm embrace. Onalee had to bend down to reciprocate since she was much taller than Clare, but she was all too happy to accommodate the female. This was one of the reasons Onalee loved coming to the MacLeod’s house: Clare always made her feel welcome.
When the older woman pulled back, Onalee took a gift out of her bag, and held it out to her. “I brought you this to wear while you work outside.”
Clare took the large hat, and smiled brightly. “Thank you, it’s lovely!” She put it on, adjusting the strap under her chin.
“It will keep the sun off of you, but also has a temperature control so you won’t feel the heat on your head,” Onalee explained.
Clare’s eyes went wide, and her words held a tinge of awe. “Well, isn’t that just amazing! Will the wonders of technology on this planet never cease?” She gave Onalee another hug in gratitude for the gift. “That was very kind of you. Now, why don’t you get inside before you start to melt. It’s going to be a hot one today.”
Onalee allowed herself to be shooed through the front door, where cooler air enveloped her. Clare was right—it was hot.
She only made it a few steps inside before she heard a sports match coming from the family room, and shouting from the opposite direction. She assumed the former was Artair watching a runkall match, like he always did in the early afternoon, but the other…
“I know how to do it!” Oliver yelled from down the hall. “You don’t have to treat me like a baby.”
“Well, right now you’re sure acting like one. I’m just trying to help you,” Conall shouted back.
The runkall match’s volume got louder, presumably to drown out the shouting voices.
Onalee froze where she was, unsure whether to continue towards Oliver’s classroom—and towards the argument—or go back outside until it was over. She was still deciding when she felt someone at her back.
“Enjoying the show?” a male asked.
I know that voice! Onalee spun and saw Brogan standing right behind her: the same male who’d been invading her dreams, both awake and asleep, since he’d set his lips upon hers. She wasn’t dreaming now; he stood within touching distance.
Does he ever think about our kiss? she wondered. Is he thinking about it now? She sure was.
Her eyes greedily took in his appearance: black pants with a multitude of pockets, a snug-fitting dark gray shirt, and a u
tility belt around his waist, heavy with various tools. He looked much more comfortable than the last time she’d seen him—much more himself.
“I’m not… I wasn’t…” she stammered, to her mortification.
Brogan smiled broadly, and she couldn’t help but admire him even more. The smile didn’t soften his masculine features, but somehow made them more captivating, more dangerous and predatory.
“I don’t need your help!” Oliver shouted from down the hall, averting their attention from one another.
“Could have fooled me,” Conall retorted.
Onalee returned Brogan’s smile. Father and son continued to bicker, but Onalee and Brogan were able to ignore them for the moment.
“I’m here to tutor Oliver,” she explained.
One of Brogan’s eyebrows rose in skepticism. “Are you sure? He sounds pretty adamant that he doesn’t need any help.”
She smiled at Brogan’s joke. “That’s true, but I think it’s different when I help him.”
“The boy is smart. Of course he’d rather have you tutor him,” Brogan replied.
Onalee warmed at the praise, and felt like a silly little girl for doing so.
“Why are you here?” she asked, shifting her heavy bag to her other shoulder. He reached and took the bag from her before replying.
“I’m installing a security network in the house and around the property.”
Her smile faded and was replaced with very real concern. “Has something happened? Is the family in trouble?”
The thought of anyone hurting the people under this roof had her stomach churning. She hated hearing about the protests and threats made against Prince Lukas, but it would be much worse if it were against this family. She hadn’t known them for long, but she’d already grown very fond of each of them.
Brogan saw her change of demeanor. He took a step closer and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“No, they haven’t been threatened. Believe me, I’d know if they were. This is just a precaution. I’d recommend the same for any Earther living on Arath right now.”
Alien Revelation Page 6
