Chapter Four
Paax
Paax left his mate sleeping, curled on her side. He dressed silently into his exo-armor. As he left the room, he pulled the blanket over her slumbering form and fought back the guilty mutter that he was sneaking away. If she knew what the day held in store, she’d beg him not to leave. He would, because there was no choice. His warriors needed to see their warlord challenged and defeat those challengers. There was no avoiding it.
Mylomon waited in the shadows of the common room.
Paax nodded at the male and said nothing. Doors, locked or otherwise, were hardly a hindrance to him.
Weapons were mounted on a wall. Before Paax was warlord, the display was largely aesthetic. While proficient in all the weapons, he was a scientist and rarely used them outside of training.
Much had changed in the last year.
His fingers skimmed along the handle of a war axe. He found the weapon’s utility appealing.
“That one? Really?”
Paax said nothing but added the axe to the harness on his back. Next he selected the short sword with the blue energized edge. This weapon had long been his favorite. The blade never lost its wickedly sharp edge. The length and the weight felt natural in his hands, like an extension of himself.
It was the blade that made him warlord.
It was the blade that killed his brother.
He added the blade to his harness. He could not afford to become sentimental today, not if he wanted to return to his mate and greet his sons.
Mylomon checked the straps on the harness and the seams on the armor, even though the nanite carbon fiber was seamless. “No helmet?”
“I’ve lost one horn. Losing the other will only improve my balance.” Horns were such a symbol of virility, or strength, that to have one amputated in battle was akin to losing your manhood. Most males shuddered at the sight but Paax was not ashamed. It was the price he paid to become warlord and his horn would regrow. Eventually.
The male grinned, a slash of white fang against his dark complexion. If anyone understood what it was like to flaunt a shameful weakness and turn it into an asset, it was Mylomon. For the longest time, the male had no tattoos: no family, no clan, no place in the universe and it unnerved the other warriors.
“Antu’s brother will demand revenge,” Mylomon said.
“This is our way.” There was no question that Antomas would have to accept his brother’s defeat. The male drew a blade on his warlord. He would not be able to resist an open challenge today. Yes, Paax baited Antu but the fight would be fair. No tricks. Brawn and brains would win out in the end. It was the Mahdfel way. Antomas did not have to like it but he had to accept it.
If a warlord could not accept the defeat of another, even a brother, in combat, then that would put his own leadership in jeopardy. Antomas had little choice, much as Paax did. He had to call out Antu, invite the male to battle him, or the whispers of dissent would grow to all out mutiny. And then who would protect his Mercy? His sons? No one. The Suhlik would slaughter his mate, seize his sons and enslave them.
Antu left him no choice at all.
Mercy
In the morning, Mercy prepared for an autopsy. The party she organized last month for the newly arrived wives and their mates did not go as planned. Disaster was a good way to describe it. She needed to slice open that disaster and examine what went wrong.
Mercy intended the party to be social mixer for the new wives to get to know each other. The Mahdfel interpreted “party” to mean a competition. Newly matched males competed with each other to prove their worthiness as mates. The wrestling was fine. That was an actual sport and took skill. However, when the horned aliens started ramming each other, clashing horns, that’s when Mercy shut the whole thing down. No music, some food, lots of wine, no chairs and alien warriors all too willing to strip down to their skivvies and show off their assets.
The party went sideways very quickly and Mercy had no idea why.
Dorothy helped Mercy out of bed and to dress. Lately she wore robes in the Sangrin style with wide sleeves. Comfort became her top priority with her expanding waistline and nothing was more comfortable than a silk robe with an adjustable belt.
She and her entourage headed to the dining hall. She could have meals delivered to her apartment but wanted the exercise. Paax forbade her from any strenuous activity and all the rest of the Mahdfel acted as if she were made of spun glass. Walking remained a permissible activity and she wasn’t about to give it up, even though her ankles swelled and her back ached.
Entering the dining hall, every horned head turned in her direction. A strange awareness crawled over her. The warriors of the clan did not see her, they just saw her belly. She wasn’t even a person to them, just a symbol of their warlord’s prowess.
The ship’s cook, Dannel, an older male with iron grey hair and horns nearly black with age, waved her over to a table. Her breakfast companion waited and the table was over burdened with dishes.
“Warlord’s female,” Dannel said, with a slight bow of his head. He then turned to her mother. “Dorothy Drake.” He did not bow. His eyes held Dorothy’s until the older woman blushed. She tucked her hair behind an ear and looked away quickly.
Mercy raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to ask her mother what that was all about. Her father, Dorothy’s husband, died during the invasion many years ago. She didn’t really expect her mother to spend the rest of her days alone but she didn’t really expect to see her mother flirting with an alien, either.
Daisy sat at the table, blonde curls loose about her shoulders but dressed in her nurse scrubs, completely riveted by the flirting. Her hands propped up her chin. “Oh my God, that is adorable.”
“That’s my mother,” Mercy said, lowering herself to the table. Braith scrambled to help her with the chair but she waved him away.
“And it’s adorable. Are you two dating, Dorothy?” she asked, turning her attention away from the mortified Mercy to the blushing Dorothy. “I know you’re too old for the match, but can a Mahdfel age out the way a human can? What are you going to do if you love him and he gets matched to someone else? Oh my God, that’s going make me cry.”
Dorothy snapped up the cloth napkin and spread it on her lap with precision. “I don’t know. He’d have to speak more than two words to me, so let’s not get too excited.”
Daisy giggled with delight but Mercy just wanted to sink through the floor. She wanted to talk about anything other than her mother’s love life. “Heading to medical after this?”
Please change the topic. Please.
Daisy nodded. “My shift starts in an hour. You’re looking well.”
“You don’t have to lie. I look tired and bloated.”
“I thought pregnant women were supposed to glow?”
“Oh, I glow at night.” Mercy rubbed her belly unconsciously. “This little fella lights up the room.”
Daisy wrinkled her nose. “That can’t be good for you.”
“Meridan says it’s normal.”
“She would know.” Daisy poured them each a cup of coffee. She added cream and sugar before handing the cup to Mercy.
The breakfast meal was a heaping plate of fried dough balls stuffed with either fruit or savory ground meat. Deep in a craving, Mercy tried to explain the concept of a pierogi to Dannel and the ball of fried dough is what he served. The fruit was his own spin, in addition to the dipping sauces.
“It’s not quite a pierogi,” Dorothy said, spearing one ball on the end of a fork. “I should teach Dannel how to make them.”
Daisy and Mercy shared a glance. “Can you make tamales? Because my mother used to make the best tamales but I never got the knack.”
“I could try,” Dorothy said. “The cook is skilled but he needs some instruction on Earth cuisine.”
Daisy nudged Mercy’s foot under the table and wiggled her eyebrows.
Mercy rolled her eyes, ignoring the woman, and placed three of the flour dusted balls on her plate. She had no idea what she selected until she cut into them but the mystery was part of the appeal. It was exotic and comforting at the same time.
Daisy bit into hers and wrinkled her nose. “Yeast spread,” she said, dropping the ball.
The pungent and meaty aroma hit her and Mercy’s stomach growled. She grabbed the yeast filled ball, savoring the salty taste. It was almost like marmite, which Mercy would have never touched on Earth. Pregnancy cravings were so weird.
Daisy said nothing. Her husband was Mylomon, the second in command of the clan. As a result, they spent much time in each other’s company. That wasn’t the first yeast ball Mercy had grabbed right off her plate.
As much as Mercy didn’t care for Mylomon, she rather liked his wife. She was sunny and chatty where Mylomon was grim and silent. Mercy knew her opinion of Mylomon was too harsh but they had started out on the wrong foot, too. He had stabbed her, for crying out loud. Less than two days married to Paax and the previous warlord had ordered Mylomon to wound her. He followed orders. That’s what a warrior did.
Unfortunately, those orders happened to suck. Still, he did help Paax defeat Omas in battle. She should reevaluate her opinion of him. In the last year, Mylomon had worked tirelessly for Paax and Daisy seemed happy in their marriage. Perhaps he wasn’t all bad, stabbing aside.
“What’s that look for?” Daisy asked.
“I was just wondering why the dining hall is empty,” Mercy replied quickly. The dining hall was suspiciously void of warriors. Normally the large room was filled around the clock with warriors. The Judgment ran on a twenty-four hour schedule with no day or night cycles. Someone was always coming on or off shift. “Braith? Kleve?” She turned to her security detail but the males shook their head.
“I am unsure, warlord’s female,” Kleve said. “The warlord called many to the arena.”
“So you boys are having a secret meeting? Why aren’t you three there?”
Braith, Kleve and Jolyon looked at each other, confusion on their faces. “We must remain with you,” Kleve finally said.
Fair enough.
Mercy turned her attention back to Daisy and the cup of decaf coffee. The flavor and the ritual of preparing a cup satisfied her craving but dang if she didn’t miss caffeine. Soon. “Tell me why my party sucked.”
“Suck is a harsh word,” Daisy said diplomatically.
“It sucked. I thought there were lots of parties at the moon base so why didn’t my party work?”
She shrugged. “The social events were a human/Mahdfel hybrid. I think the rec department mashed up Earth and Mahdfel holidays.”
“But it was a party, right? With music and dancing and no… horn butting.”
“Yes, but the rec department is mostly human. The population of the moon base is half human, half Mahdfel. Here, we’re—”
“Outnumbered.”
“I was going to say under represented. You planning another party?”
Mercy sipped the coffee, savoring the sweet and acrid taste. “When you arrived on the Judgment, what was your experience like?”
“Hectic.” Daisy shook her head. “It’s all a blur, really.”
“I want to do something for the new wives. An orientation. Right now we’re relying on the males to get them to medical and get their security clearances but there’s no good protocol.”
“Does everything need a protocol?”
Mercy remembered the anxiety and confusion she felt after teleporting across the universe to her new husband. “Yes. They should know they’re not alone here.”
“Hmm. If you have the new brides go straight into an orientation process with another male, I think the newly mated men would lose their minds.”
The need to protect a mate was hardwired into the Mahdfel. Separation from a mate had serious consequences, especially early in the relationship. At least that’s what every pacing, snarling male said once they learned of their match and impatiently waited for her arrival. Just knowing a match existed flipped a switch in their brain, turning them from easy-going into over-protective beast.
“So have a woman do the orientation,” Dorothy said. “It doesn’t have to be immediate. Couldn’t you do it two or three days after arrival?”
Sensible and reasonable. The female population grew daily. While she’d like to personally greet every new bride, she just wasn’t physically able. She’d search for a volunteer, someone with a warm smile and comforting manner. Mercy opened her mouth to say as much when a cramp rolled through her stomach, followed by a popping sensation and a release of pressure. Water gushed out from between her legs.
She sat stunned; briefly mortified that she lost control of her bladder and peed everywhere. Then she realized that the volume was too much. Her water had broken.
Finally.
Mercy’s grabbed her mother’s wrist and scanned the room to see if her guards were nearby. They were close but not within earshot if she spoke softly.
“What is it?” Dorothy asked.
“I need everyone to stay calm,” she said in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper.
“When you say things like that, it makes me not calm.”
“Don’t shout and don’t get excited, but I need to go to medical.”
Daisy immediately tapped out a message on her comm unit. “OK, Meridan knows we are on our way. Are you having contractions?”
Mercy rubbed her belly, waiting. “I don’t know.”
Dorothy helped her up from the chair. “We’re not going to panic. We’re going to walk calmly to medical.”
Braith apparently heard every word. Dang that superior alien hearing. “Warlord’s female, you are in medical distress.”
“I’m not in distress. I’m in labor.”
“We will go to medical. Now.” Braith moved to lift her into his arms.
She batted his hands away. “I can still walk.”
“The distance is far and you are compromised.”
“I’m not compromised.”
“Is that the normal volume of fluid?” Jolyon asked, staring at the growing puddle on the floor. “That’s rather a lot.”
“How do we cease the purge of fluid?” Kleve turned to Daisy, the only qualified medical practitioner in the room. “Tell us, female.”
“I’m going to medical and no one is carrying me,” Mercy said, voice growing firm.
“Unacceptable.” Braith and Kleve exchanged a look and moved at the same time, pinning her between their muscular frames. She was trapped. So not fair.
“You’re making me upset,” she warned, trying to duck their arms. “And Paax won’t be happy when I tell him.” Yes, it was a dirty trick, threatening to tattle on her guys but it was the only trick she had.
“The warlord will be more upset if we allowed you to injure yourself.”
“Good point. Why don’t you go ask him how he feels?” Mercy pointed over Kleve’s shoulder. When the male turned, she ducked away, surprisingly nimble for a woman in labor.
She made it exactly two steps before Braith scooped her up. She huffed in frustration. “Fine. If you have to carry me, make it snappy.”