Vulrux:

After my disquieting talk with Dennox, I head to Zorux’s house to check on the two scientists, carrying a tray of food in my hands. Both scientists have declined to eat with the Draekons, choosing instead to be served in their rooms. They’re still weak from their wounds, and so we tolerate it.

As I walk down the long passageway to the western-most edge of the clearing, I’m lost in thought. If there is an herb that will bring back my pair-bond's missing memories, I’ve never heard of it.

On the homeworld, mind-wipes are administered by the Technicians. It is rumored that they also possess the ability to undo them. Unfortunately, here on the prison planet, technicians are in short supply, as is the equipment they need to do their job.

If only I had finished my training before the exile…

I understand only too well Dennox’s ache for the truth. My own such need is what drives me to Zorux’s house, with a small bottle of ahuma venom concealed in my robes.

Both Raiht’vi and Beirax are well enough to be questioned. Arax had a short, unproductive conversation with the male scientist a few days ago, but the meeting had ended in an impasse. Arax wants Beirax banished as a result of his crimes. Beirax tried to exchange information for a pardon, but my cousin was not in a forgiving mood.

Raiht’vi’s injuries are almost healed, and she wears the white robes, a rare honor among the scientists, one reserved for only their best and brightest. If anyone knows the truth of who ordered my mate to be killed in the Crimson Citadel, it would be her.

Yet when I reach the entrance to the room in which she is recuperating, I hesitate. Without Raiht’vi’s help, Harper would have died. I don’t want to feel any sense of obligation to the scientist, but I do.

Beirax then.

I enter the scientist’s room. He’s awake, staring out of the window at the rains with a bleak expression on his face. “Does it ever stop?” he asks, his voice tight with frustration. “How do you stand it?”

“You get used to it,” I reply.

I don’t know what I think of the scientist. Beirax’s actions have led to the death of two people, the technician Mannix and the human woman Janet, but had he not crashed the Zorahn spaceship on the prison planet, we would have never met Harper. To say I’m conflicted is an understatement.

Viola Lewis told us what Beirax said before he crashed the spaceship on the prison planet. If I understand correctly, he’s trying to bring the Draekons to power, but I can’t figure out why. The mysterious Order of the Crimson Night, the shadowy splinter group that Beirax belongs to, cannot possibly hope to benefit from Draekon rule. Even though it was a long-ago Zorahn Emperor, Kannix, that ordered the Draekon race into exile, it is the scientists who test us, and it is their gold-tipped needles that determine our fate. The Crimson Citadel has nothing to gain from Draekon ascendance.

Wheels within wheels. Secrets carefully guarded; knowledge hoarded. That is the Zorahn way. For sixty years, I’ve lived without the rigid rules that governed my homeworld. Now, I feel myself drawn into the sticky web again.

Beirax is still looking out of the window. I set the tray down on a narrow table, and empty the bottle of ahuma venom into a steaming bowl of argangana broth. What I’m about to do violates every tenet of the healer code, but I don’t care.

I need answers, and I intend to get them.

“How is the pain today?” Beirax was badly wounded in the crash. Sofia Menendez tells me that if he were human, he would have died of his wounds. Zorahn are sturdier. By the time the rains stop, Beirax will be back to full health.

“Manageable.”

I hold my breath as he sits down at the table and drinks the entire bowlful of broth. The venom acts swiftly. In a minute, Beirax’s breathing evens, and his eyes glaze. He’s ready for the interrogation.

“Lie down on the bed,” I instruct. I’ve had very limited opportunities to test the effects of the ahuma potion, and I’m unsure how long the effects will last, and how much information I’ll be able to coax out of the scientist, particularly if he’s taken safeguards against mind probes.

Beirax heads obediently to the cot and lies down.

My heart is pounding in my chest. For sixty years, I’ve been dreaming about the moment when I find out the truth. Who ordered the guards to kill our mate? Now, the information is finally within my reach.

“In the Crimson Citadel, there are laboratories in the lower levels. Tell me what happens there.”

“I don’t know,” Beirax replies instantly. “Only the most talented scientists work at those levels. Or so they say.”

Frustration fills me. Beirax knows nothing.

Unless... The venom compels Beirax to answer my questions, but it won’t make him volunteer information. I need to approach this matter from a different angle. I need answers, for Dennox’s sake, and for mine.

“Fine. Tell me everything you’ve heard about the underground levels.”

His forehead beads with sweat as he struggles to avoid answering. “I’ve heard it said,” he says at last, “that in the caverns of the Citadel, we work on the Forbidden.”

I frown in confusion. “What is the Forbidden?”

He answers that question readily. “After the Draekon rebellion,” he says, “Kannix, Light of the Galaxies decreed that the scientists were forbidden from manipulating the threads of life. We were no longer permitted to create new races, and we were ordered to destroy our work on the Draekons.”

I draw in a harsh breath. Every member of our society lives by one code. The word of the High Emperor is law. For the scientists to defy Kannix’s order is treason. Treason punishable by death.

Beirax’s words match up with my own observations. Dennox was being held prisoner in the Crimson Citadel, as was our mate. For generations, by order of the High Emperor, every person with the Draekon mutation is to be exiled to the prison planet, but it seems that the scientists diverted a few Draekons to their underground labs to experiment on them.

How high does the rot go? “Do the Council of Scientists know about the underground labs? Does Brunox know?”

He laughs shortly. “You’re a naive fool, Thirdborn. Of course Brunox knows. A grain of sand could not stir in the Citadel without the Head of the Council finding out.”

Outrage fills me. I bear no love for my cousin Lenox, but he needs to know about the treachery in his ranks. But how? There are no communicators here. When the Draekons are sent to the prison planet, it is a death sentence. I have no way of warning the High Emperor.

“Sixty years ago, a woman was killed in the underground labs. She was being held prisoner while your precious scientists experimented on her. Tell me what you know about her death.”

“A Zorahn woman?”

I nod, and he shakes his head at once. “We don’t experiment on our own kind. Our code forbids it.”

“Or you aren’t talented enough to run those experiments,” I retort acidly.

His eyes flash with anger, and I regret my outburst. Antagonizing Beirax serves no purpose. From his own confession, he’s a low-level underling who knows nothing.

Whether or not I feel gratitude toward Raiht’vi, I’m going to have to turn to her for information.

Beirax is still under the effects of the ahuma venom. “Who are the Order of the Crimson Night? What do you hope to achieve?”

Once again, Beirax strains to keep silent, but the venom is more potent than any truth serum found on the homeworld. “The conditions are right for the Draekons to return, but the Council is cautious and moves too slowly.” His hands curl into fists as he tries to resist telling me what he knows. “The Order of the Crimson Night will bring the Draekons back within two generations. We will overturn the crystal throne. Scientists will finally rule over the High Empire.”

I’m not sure if Beirax is talking about a credible plot to overthrow the High Empire, or if I’m listening to the ravings of a madman. “Why are the conditions right for the Draekons to return?”

“The mutation has spread,” he replies. “At the last testing, two thousand Draekons were found. There are now enough males for our plan to take effect.”

Two thousand! I stiffen with shock. Our exile batch had fourteen.

“Tell me about your plan.”

Beirax’s knuckles turn white as he tries to fight back. “I don’t know it all,” he replies. “I’m one of many. I was asked to find out if the human women could mate with the Draekons.”

“And then what? This is a prison planet. Even if the human women produce Draekon young, we can’t leave the planet. Your spaceship crashed. The communicator on it is broken. You’re stuck here, as much as any of us. Your plan doesn’t make any sense.”

He sneers at me. “Once again, you take me for a fool, Thirdborn.”

A prickle of unease runs down my spine. “Explain,” I order.

“Every trap can be sprung,” he replies. “There’s a way out of this planet. For months, the Order of the Crimson Night has been dropping supplies on the prison planet. Somewhere out there,” he says bitterly, waving his arm toward the window, “are the component parts of a Cloakship.”

I inhale sharply. “That’s impossible,” I say harshly. “You cannot drop supplies on this planet. The Zorahn Navy patrols the skies above us, watching for any attempts to help the Exiles.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “And yet,” he says, “The Zorahn Navy has turned a blind eye to our supply drops. Ask yourself, Thirdborn. If the Navy was keeping such a close watch on the prison planet, why did they not blast our spaceship to smithereens? Why did they let it land?”

He’s being oblique. The effects of the potion are wearing away. I only have time for a few more questions and must focus on the most important matters. I have only one more vial of ahuma venom, and I must save that for questioning Raiht’vi.

I have to choose. I can either satisfy my curiosity about why the Zorahn Navy let Fehrat 1 through, or I can question Beirax about the supply drops.

“You didn’t land though, did you? You crashed.”

“Raiht’vi interfered,” he snaps. “Do you think this was supposed to be a suicide mission? I’d planned on landing near the drop site. I had a locator that would take me to the supplies. Mannix was a technician, and he would have assembled the Cloakship. The Draekon have sharper, faster reflexes. They would have piloted the ship through the asteroid belt. We’d thought of everything.”

His expression turns bitter. “Raiht’vi ruined the plan. She locked me out of the controls. Because of her, we crashed nowhere near the planned location. The locator that will lead me to the cloakship is on Fehrat 1, submerged under water. Even if I could retrieve it, the supply drop zone is a two-month journey on foot, dangerously close to another exile batch.” His voice is bleak. “I have no weapons, and I can’t make my way across the jungle unarmed. It’s too dangerous. I’m a scientist, not a warrior.”

No. He’s right. Beirax wouldn’t last two days in the wild before the Dwals will catch his scent and hunt him.

“If one of the Exiles finds the Cloakship before I do…” His voice trails off. His lips tighten, and he glares at me mutinously.

He’s resisting my questioning. I’ve run out of time. Time for the ahuma’s last trick. “Sleep now. I order you to forget this conversation. When you wake, you will remember nothing.”

His eyes shut. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.

This conversation has changed everything. There’s a way off the prison planet. As soon as the rains stop, we need to find the locator, and let it guide us to the Cloakship.

Hope surges in my breast then recedes swiftly. If leaving the prison planet is possible, Harper’s not going to want to stay.

Don’t tell her just yet, a voice inside me urges. Don’t get her hopes up.

I want to believe that I’m listening to that voice because I want to spare Harper’s feelings, but that’s not the real reason. The truth is that if I tell her, Dennox and I will lose our mate. Once again.