by Casey Lea
Nightwing rose from the examination rack and wished he had been unconscious. His body still ached and the t’ssaas’ probing had left a harsh metallic taste at the back of his throat. He wondered whether they had really needed to calibrate his synaptic responses without anaesthetic or if they enjoyed it as much as Greon. He stepped away from the support field and reached for his discarded clothes. He dressed grimly, but realized that his hands were shaking and spared a moment from sealing his tunic to steady them. He looked down at his still fingers, while keeping most of his attention on the three t’ssaa behind him.
One of the reptiles unexpectedly moved away from the group. Its light steps made no noise, but Wing’s fronds sensed its approach and he spun to face it. Its strange features were unreadable, although he felt menace and violent intentions as it closed on him. Greon stopped humming from his shelter in the doorway and watched warily.
The t’ssaa’s eyes were fully vertical when it stepped into striking range of Wing. It was ready to attack. The kres tensed with the realisation that this was another test and possibly the most important of all.
“What?” he asked curtly and when he spoke the t’ssaa attacked.
Its green arm glistened as it struck with the awesome speed that made the reptiles so feared. However, Wing was expecting the blow and reacted instantly. His head jerked and the t’ssaa missed its target. Instead, its fingertips caught the curved gold blade of his nose with stinging impact. He stepped smoothly back, shaking his head to clear it and ducked into a crouch with his hands raised protectively, but the fight was over. The t’ssaa stepped away and rejoined its companions. They regarded Nightwing impassively and then all three tongues flickered to taste the air.
“He did not panic,” one stated, and the others agreed.
“He knew fear,” said the t’ssaa that attacked, “but his reactions were only one hundreth sslow.”
Its companions stirred uneasily and one raised its hand scan toward Wing. “Are all kres sso fast?” it demanded and he realized he had disturbed them.
“Yes,” he lied. “My reactions are average.”
The t’ssaa crowded together and one crest rose slightly to show streaks of red. Wing sensed potential violence in their odd minds, but something else as well. His answer excited them.
“Yess,” the lead prober decided, “your people could be asseptable. You will ssuply ssperm to us.”
Wing was utterly unprepared for such a request and, across the room, Greon gaped. Their eyes met and the leader groaned inwardly at his Senior’s expression.
“It’s only sperm,” Greon said gruffly. “I’m sure they’ll pay well. Just provide some.”
To Greon’s dismay, Nightwing shook a finger in absolute refusal.
“I will not,” he stated flatly, staring at his Leader to make it clear that no order would change his mind.
Greon straightened from slouching in the doorway and despite his size wafted silently to join Nightwing. He leaned down to whisper in his Senior’s ear, making Wing flinch. “I know you kres are notoriously nurturing, but it’s not actually children-”
“Potential children, sah and I won’t negotiate. Not on this.”
Greon started to hum and crouched lower, while casually raising his arm to lift his com. Wing realized he had just become a shield and clamped his teeth against a sigh. Subtlety was a foreign concept to memaridean. As if to prove his point five mutt shoved their way through the door, skidding and pushing past each like puppies chasing a bone. They raised their arms and their coms shrilled with blast energy.
Wing wanted to bury his face in his hands, but imminent battle with the t’ssaa trumped his despair over his crew. His com circled his wrist with fire and he focused on his recent attacker. Who was recompressing the last of the t’ssaa’s equipment.
Wing blinked, but nobody else moved. The remaining lizards watched him calmly, as if he was the only other person in the room. Their tongues flickered constantly, but their arms hung limp at their sides.
“Very well,” the largest reptile finally said. “Our exam is complete.”
The mutt turned with a clatter of boots and weapons to stare at Greon. He gestured to the hall and they looked at each other uncertainly. The Leader’s steady hum deepened to a growl, matching Wing’s exasperation.
“Go,” their Senior ordered, “and wait close outside to escort our guests. They’re just leaving.”
The largest t’ssaa’s eyes blinked rapidly and it ducked its head. “Thanksss, Nightwing. Good flight and good fight. Perhapss we shall ssee you on Gratuity or Eltok?”
His eyes strayed to meet Wing’s and a chill touched the kres. “Perhaps,” he agreed noncommittally.
He watched silently as the t’ssaa finished packing. The aliens were equally quiet, although their tongues flickered constantly as if they were exchanging information. They quickly finished and each lithe individual shouldered a compression sac. Their commander turned back to Nightwing and he was instantly alert again.
“The sscars on your cheekss are markss of unworth, yess?”
Wing felt Greon’s instant curiosity, but failed to hide his anger at the question. He found it hard to answer against a sense of choking and had to force words past a stiff throat. “Yes, they’re ritual marks of disHonor.”
“Why?”
“Why do you wish to know?”
The t’ssaa was unblinking, but the dark slits of its pupils slid upright and widened, a first sign of battle readiness. “We have esplained already. We wish to know more of kres. More of all peopless.”
Wing hesitated and realized that his injured emotions were putting his ship at risk. “I disobeyed my ruler, my house and the Bureau of Genome Protection. I’m now cast-out.”
“Did your father sscar your face?”
“No, my father died long past. I did it.”
“This is part of the ritual, yess?”
“Yes.”
“What if you refuse?”
“If I hadn’t cut my face, I would have been force branded. The brand is tiny and on the wrist, but that’s part of the ritual. It offers temptation, but only a coward takes the brand. A kres who scars his cheeks retains some Honor. Not for himself, but for his family.”
The t’ssaa absorbed his words in silence, although their tongues were as busy as before. They turned away without thanks or any further acknowledgment, for which Wing was grateful. He shuddered as the five mutt reappeared, summoned by Greon to escort the t’ssaa from the med bay. The group’s footsteps receded and stopped when they entered the link. Nightwing started to relax, until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
“That didn't look like fun,” Greon stated happily. “You can rest for as long as needed. With sick pay, of course.”
Wing stifled a curse. “Certain-sure. You’ll get the money.”
“How many shifts will you opt off?”
“One alone, sah. It’s all I can afford.”
“For true, for true. Do enjoy your rest, Senior. I have to make haste back to the nest to give Jileea a fright.” Greon’s hand rose from Nightwing’s shoulder like an anchor weight lifting. The leader stepped jauntily to the door and his silver hair bobbed in time to his humming as he left.
Nightwing looked sourly after him and ruefully rubbed his shoulder. “Greon’s a leader who truly cares.” He snorted at his own comment and stretched stiffly. He idly tapped his com and it showed a negative reading for any surveillance. Nightwing accepted its reassurance and connected with his console. He checked the data lock implanted in the cells the t’ssaa had harvested from him. It was working and showed a clear trail back to the t’ssaa ship. Wing smiled with satisfaction, relieved that the offensive examination had been worthwhile. He could find them again whenever he wished. He started to close the link, but an image of Pertwing appeared.
“Hey, hon,” he said automatically, and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
“Sweetie,” she responded with a languorous smile. “Do you need to run a check on your q
uarters?”
Nightwing’s eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion. “Ye, I think I do. How’s Darsey?”
“I have no knowledge.”
Nightwing groaned and wondered what else could go wrong. “Alright, where’s Darsey?”
“I can't answer that question either.”
Nightwing frowned and wondered how the alien could have escaped his data trace. “Why not?”
“I can't answer that question.”
“What? Oh Gods, has she made a personal file?”
“I can't answer that question.”
“Which means yes. The gat. She had me thinking she was a console muck.” Nightwing closed his eyes and rubbed wearily at the ache in his cheeks as he sent mental commands via the com to override Darsey’s privacy orders. It was harder to break into her file than he expected and, despite his fury, he felt grudging respect. “How the hail did she do that? She darted past a dozen command layers.”
“The female has an eidetic memory.”
“Darsey has perfect recall? Why didn’t you on-tell before?”
“She didn't let me and neither did you. I tried to limit her console access, but you overspoke me-”
“Ye, I know and I’m sorry. I was somewhat distracted.”
The tiny projection squirmed from her pose reclining on one side to push herself up on an arm. Her expression was genuinely concerned. “I know. Are you well? Did the t’ssaa hurt you?”
Nightwing waved the questions away and hopped up onto the examining field. He sat there swinging his legs and re-establishing the data lock on Darsey. “I’m fine, but most pleased they’re gone. I won’t volunteer for such again. At last. There’s her signal, just coming from a service way. Lock out her access to vital systems and let her roam.”
“You’re not going to fetch her?”
“No. She forced her way out and any trouble that finds her is hers to fix. I’m coming home to cleanse and sleep and then cleanse over. See you soon-as.”
“Good,” his console murmured, blowing a kiss as she disappeared.
11
Violation
