Seeran

“Brother.” Lorran dropped himself into the chair opposite Seeran’s desk and propped his feet up.

Seeran glanced up at his younger brother. “Do not get dirt on my desk.”

“You’re too fussy.”

“You’re too slovenly.”

Lorran pretended to make a study of the room. The brig was not the most compelling space in the Judgment. It was serviceable. Those under his command came and went off shift, sometimes they filled a holding cell with an offending warrior and sometimes the brig remained quiet with nary a whisper.

“Is that a carreg axe?” Lorran moved to study the ancient iron weapon mounted on the wall.

“It is Terran, but a similar design.” The principles and design of violence were universal. Every planet he had been to, every alien culture, had a version of spear, axe, sword and gun. Intelligent life was very, very good at killing itself.

“You brought back a souvenir? A Terran mate was not enough?”

Seeran fought back the urge to slap the smirk off his younger brother’s face. “Is there a reason to your visit?”

“You will not answer our mother’s call, so she has employed me to harass you with questions.”

He pushed away the tablet. There was little hope to continue his work as long as Lorran sat smirking in his office. He had spent many hours trying to track down the traitor. He would not fail the warlord and would only approach him with solid proof and the traitor in hand. That, of course, meant many hours wading through transmission logs and little time for pleasantries, like calling his mother.

“I will call her when I have time.”

“How are you spending your time? You haven’t claimed your sweet little Terran, so it’s not that.”

Seeran slapped a hand on the table, the thunderous sound filling the silence of the brig. He could reach across and throttle Lorran with little effort. His brother was fast but not faster than him. “You are the youngest, our mother’s favorite, and I know you were dropped on the head several times, so I will speak slowly. I am in my office. I am working.”

Lorran only grinned. “Another set of hands can lighten the load. Allow me to help.”

“So I’ll have the time to call our mother?”

He sighed dramatically. “Yes! She calls me nonstop. Let me help you so that female will leave me in peace.”

“That female gave you life.”

“That female calls in the middle of my sleep cycle.”

His brother’s obvious suffering warmed his heart. “Very well. I need to ask questions to a certain warrior.”

Lorran rose to his feet. “And you need to look intimidating? Excellent.”

“I need you to say nothing and stand behind me.”

“Intimidatingly.”

“Just so.”

The ship’s computer located the suspect. The communication station was near the bridge and far from the brig. One did not hold prisoners near the command center of the battle cruiser, after all.

Walking briskly, Lorran followed. “What is the male’s offense?”

“I cannot discuss an ongoing investigation.”

“But you can have me hovering over your shoulder. Oh.” The pieces fell into place for Lorran. If he was witness to an interrogation, he was part of the ongoing investigation. He would not be able to speak on the matter to anyone other than Seeran and the warlord. “Thank you. Now I can avoid our mother’s call in good consciousness.”

“Consider it an early Golau gift.”

Seeran found the traitor at the communications hub. To his credit, the traitor did not panic and flee, admitting his guilt immediately. He pretended not to notice Seeran and went about his work, as if he did not have secrets to hide.

“Warrior Cen,” he said, motioning for the male to step outside. There were many ears in the communications hub. He did not want to give anything away until he determined the true depth of the treason.

“Warrior Seeran,” Cen said, giving a brief nod to him and Lorran. “Is there a problem? I told the warlord the communications would be fully functional after the repairs.”

Yes, the mysterious communications outage, just before the Judgment sailed through a gate and into a trap.

“You were an associate of Antu?”

The male shook his head. “We both served in communications. I knew him.”

“Did you share sympathies with him?”

Another head shake. “In truth, I could barely stand the male. He thought he deserved special considerations because of his brother.”

Seeran did not turn to his brother but he caught movement in the corner of his eye. “Good. I only ask because communications continued with Antomas after Antu’s foolish challenge to our warlord. He had several supporters, yes?”

“Did they not also fail the same challenge?”

Seeran spread his empty hands in a placating gesture. “I was not here to witness these events. I noticed that Antu socialized with several warriors in the clan.”

“He was friendly.”

“But you barely tolerated him,” he said with a nod. “And several of those supporters failed in a challenge but several more remained silent. They did not challenge the warlord.”

“He is a fair enough warlord. I have no quarrel with his leadership.”

“Just so. I am concerned that the transmissions to Antomas continued.”

“Perhaps it was scheduled or programmed,” Cen said. His hands hung perfectly still at his side.

“And those transmissions ceased the day after your mate arrived.”

Cen’s hand twitched, the only sign of discomfort. “I was fortunate to have a match. I understand you also have a new mate.”

“Yes. With my female, I find that I think more about protecting her and the desire for foolish risks and fantasies of revenge or power slip away. I’m sure you feel the same.”

“My Mia is a joy.”

Seeran gave the male a thin smile. Traditionally a male would wish another many sons but he couldn’t bring himself to utter the words. “I found our conversation illuminating. Thank you and please return to your station.”

Hazel

HAZEL WAS HALFWAY THROUGH another murder mystery episode when Seeran arrived. She paused the program while they shared dinner. He opened another bottle of wine, this one a dry red.

“What’s this taste?” she asked, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Describe it, please.”

“It starts off fine, I guess, but there’s an aftertaste. It’s bitter.” She frowned, setting the glass down.

“Tannins. It is what makes this wine dry.”

“I don’t care for it.”

“My father has breed these grapes for twenty years to get just the right flavor profile.”

What could she say to that? She insulted his parent’s vineyard, couldn’t appreciate the delicate flavor profile of fine wines and she was put out that he failed to notice her new hair.

After dinner, they returned to the common area to finish watching her murder mystery show. He sank on the sofa next to her, wordless draping an arm over her shoulder. He watched for several minutes before finally saying, “They do nothing to arm themselves. They invite attack. It is no mystery why one of their numbers is deceased.”

“You’re supposed to figure out why and how they were killed, not criticize their...”

“But I just told you why. They had no weapons. They were ill prepared. Their demise was a forgone conclusion.”

“If no one died, then it’s not a very good murder mystery, is it?” Hazel sighed, stopping the program and bringing up the main menu. “You pick something.”

He brought up a historical drama. Hazel couldn’t tell if the costumes were deliberately bad or it was a reflection on the quality of the production. The Sangrin actors wore latex Suhlik masks and the effect was... disturbing. The flat, dead eyes of the Suhlik were even more so on the screen.

“Tooth and Claw,” Hazel read as the intro credits rolled by. “Really?”

“It is the valiant story of the warriors who won our freedom from the Suhlik.”

“And everyone talks in that weird accent because?”

“It is history. Everyone had that accent back then.” He was quiet for a moment, then, “I enjoyed this program as a youth. Perhaps it has aged poorly.”

“Does it have swords fights and butt kicking? Then I’m all in.”

She settled in next to him, pulling a throw blanket over her legs. She tried to follow the story but it proved impossible to read any expression from the actors in Suhlik masks. They might as well have been marionettes. The “Mahdfel” were Sangrin actors dressed in leather harnesses and kilts and not much else. Apparently the slavery and subjugation of Seeran’s ancestors didn’t come with pants.

She cringed at her pithy thought. The costumes might be cheesy but clearly the story meant something to Seeran. His people had been enslaved. His people had won their freedom. How many times had she watched Braveheart? Or Star Wars, for that matter. His eyes watched the screen with rapt fascination.

“You changed your mane. It smells nice,” he said.

“Thanks. Mia did it for me today.”

“Does Terran hair change color often?”

“Just mine. This is close to my natural shade. Why? Did you have your heart set on a blonde?”

He shifted subtly, to better face her. “That question is a trap.”

Always with the risk analysis. She wanted to laugh and smile, lean into the warmth of him and enjoy a quiet evening, but she couldn’t forget the way Cen gripped Mia’s elbow. “I don’t like her mate, Seeran. There’s something wrong with him.”

He nodded, as if this was expected. “He is dangerous. You would do best to avoid him.”

“No, I mean, he hurt her.”

Seeran sat up a little straighter. “Explain.”

“His kind of lost his shit when he found her here. In our apartment, I mean. He started barking about safety and attacks and then he... grabbed her. Here.” Hazel pinched her right elbow to demonstrate.

“I would not have him endanger you, sweetness. Stay away from Cen and his female.”

Somehow he completely missed the point. “Mia is my friend. I’m not going to shun her because her alien is an ass.”

“And you tell me this?”

“Because you said it was forbidden for a male to harm a female! I saw him, Seeran, right in our home. He hurt her!” And promptly followed that bit of physical abuse with rather rude things to say about Hazel herself, but that was beside the point.

“I am aware of Cen.”

“Are you going to do something about it.”

“I said I was aware. You must swear to me you will not interfere.” His eyes flashed, the coolness now replaced with something akin to anger.

“I won’t do that. Mia needs a friend.” Hazel had been the woman in a bad relationship and she wasn’t going to let Mia slip away because her jerk husband tried his damnedest to drive her friends away. “What has to happen for you to care? A bruise? A broken bone? Or will you tolerate it as long as you don’t see, as long as it’s discrete.”

“Enough!” His chest heaved once. Twice. Hazel watched him, ready to bolt if he moved toward her in anger.

He sighed, shoulders slumping and the tightly-coiled tension drained from her gut. “I will resolve this, sweet one, but you must swear to me to keep your distance. A cur will strike at anyone when they are put down. I would not have you injured.”

“She’s my only friend, Seeran. Please.”

“Your heart is kind and I love you for it, but do not let your kind heart put you at risk.”

“Should I arm myself to prevent any mischief?”

He relaxed back into the cushions of the sofa and drew her to him. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I have studied much of what you Terrans consider entertainment and your propensity for violence worries me.”

This, from the man with a ceremonial sword above the bed.