Alien Redemption [Clans of Kalquor 06] (6 page)

It took all Erybet’s self control to keep disappointment from flooding his expression. Maria was obvious as she fished for Vax’s clan status.

The Imdiko darted a quick glance at him and flushed with embarrassment. The voltage of his smile lowered. “I’ll be sure to tell her. It doesn’t hurt to remind her to appreciate me once in awhile.”

The obligatory laughter from all was forced. Vax wasted no time bowing and leaving, but not before sympathy crossed his gentle features.

Well, at least one Imdiko in the building was aware of the obvious. Erybet took no comfort from it, however. The date was a lost cause and all he wanted to do now was get it over with.

He grabbed his large glass of kloq and drained it in one go. He hoped they had plenty more at home to help him forget the humiliation of this night. And not just tonight. There was a lot he’d like to forget.

* * * *

Erybet’s shuttle landed in its assigned place between his clanmates’ personal vehicles. He turned it off, winking out Conyod’s view of the exterior vid, which showed the docking bay in the complex where they lived. Like a quarter of the city’s inhabitants, they lived within the cliffs overlooking the pink-sand beach at the western edge of Kalquor’s largest ocean. Spacious living quarters and multiple levels had been cut inside the natural formations. The Imperial Clan and their immediate families also lived in one of the cliffs. The Royal House was about half a mile away from where Erybet’s group made their home, along with around 300 other clans.

The interior of the cliff dwelling showed little evidence of the natural formation it was carved from. The floor of the bay was polished smooth as glass, and light emitted from the wall and ceiling panels that covered the stone.

As soon as they disembarked, Sletran muttered something about taking a walk on the beach.

He headed towards the transport tube that accessed all levels and sections of the cliff without waiting for their leave. Conyod started to say something, but one look at Erybet’s face shut him up. The Dramok’s fine-drawn features were almost feral with his brow crushing down over his eyes and mouth curled in a near snarl. Erybet was boiling mad.

His shoulders hunched almost defensively, Conyod followed Erybet to another transport.

Except for his leader’s snapped orders to the transport controls, neither said anything.

The second they got into their quarters’ greeting room, Erybet tossed the box containing the necklace they’d presented Matara Maria to a nearby table. That she’d been reluctant to return it had been obvious, but she’d told them, “I’m sorry but I don’t think your clan is for me. And as much as I love this necklace, I wouldn’t feel right accepting it.”

She’d been a very nice woman, more than acceptable for a potential Matara. Conyod felt a wash of guilt that he’d disappointed Erybet by not trying harder. But Maria was not Rachel. Not by far, and he just couldn’t pretend interest in the woman, not even to make his Dramok happy.

Erybet stalked across the room to the bar, wasting no time in pouring himself a glass of bohut, a much more potent drink than the kloq he’d had at the restaurant. Conyod eyed the half dozen bottles of alcohol at the bar with desire, but he wasn’t going to go anywhere near while his furious Dramok stood there.

He’s never truly hurt me. His discipline and punishments have always been fair
, the Imdiko told himself. But Erybet was a near stranger to him now, and who knew what he was capable of in such a rage? Conyod decided it was best not to chance finding out.

He wanted to go to the sleeping room, to get as far from the other man as possible. But the way Erybet glared at him told Conyod he wasn’t going anywhere, not without a discussion first.

Swallowing hard, Conyod sank onto a lounger against one light-paneled wall. The greeting room wasn’t very big; just enough to entertain half a dozen guests comfortably. He sat in the area with the lounger and a table. Two raised chairs sat across from him. In one corner, a few seating cushions scattered around a smaller second table. Fur rugs covered the floor, creating a soft patchwork puzzle of whites, grays, browns, and blacks. On the far wall were framed portraits of the clan, portraits the talented Erybet himself had drawn.

Conyod felt himself cringing under Erybet’s livid stare and made himself sit up straight.

He’d been completely out of line at dinner with his reticence, and it was time to make amends for his behavior. His “I’m sorry” was spoken with sincerity.

Erybet’s voice was a growl. “Give me one good reason why this one wasn’t acceptable to you.”

Rachel
. Conyod bit his lip. Erybet wouldn’t understand. So Conyod went to the other reason, the one that was more plausible. The one his stubborn Dramok should understand but refused to.

“Maria was a perfectly lovely woman. But the state of this clan –”

Erybet slammed his glass on the polished blackwood top of the bar counter, cutting Conyod off. “Her presence might have fixed the state of this clan! Why won’t you acknowledge that?

Damn it, Conyod, we only get two more chances at this! And it will be hard to find someone as good as Matara Maria!”

Hating the pleading tone coming out of his mouth but unable to stop it, Conyod said, “Our Nobek is in no condition to protect a Matara. He can’t even protect himself from himself!”

“Sletran needs focus. He needs a goal. Seeing to a Matara’s needs will give him the direction he needs.” Erybet was dogged in his belief that the Nobek’s natural protectiveness would fix everything, if only he had someone he could exercise that nature with.

Conyod knew better, and Erybet’s continued blindness to the real situation was making anger replace fear and contrition. He rose and stomped across the fur-covered floor to stand before his Dramok, returning glare for glare across the bar between them. “He needs therapy.

Erybet, chopping his hair off with his knife is one step away from self-mutilation. Maybe even suicide!”

Erybet winced. He broke eye contact, his head bowing. “He would never do that. Not our Nobek.”

As his leader’s anger bled away, Conyod’s also diminished. “Not the old Sletran. But this one—” Conyod shuddered. “He’s not the same. Neither are you. You used to tell me everything. Both of you did. Why won’t you tell me what happened? You know I won’t talk, not even under torture.”

Erybet’s fists clenched. Opened. Clenched again. “This is different. We’re under orders from the highest command. We can’t speak of what our last mission was, or what happened on it. It’s just not possible.”

Anger surged once more in the face of the Dramok’s stubbornness. Conyod spat, “Is your Nobek’s life worth the secrecy? Because that’s what you’re gambling. If we lose him, and I find out I could have done something if you’d just told me, then I … I don’t think I could forgive you.”

Erybet slowly raised his head to look at him. His expression was blank. “I guess that’s a chance I’ll have to take then. I’m sorry, Conyod. I really am.”

With that, Erybet turned and left the room, leaving Conyod seething impotently. Again.

The Imdiko grabbed the bottle of bohut with a shaking hand. Drinking would not help matters one bit. He’d only wake in the morning with a pounding head and a still broken clan.

But the siren song of forgetting for even a few hours was too much temptation to resist. He didn’t bother with a glass, tipping the bottle to his mouth and wincing against the fiery burn of liquor running down his throat.

Conyod walked back to the lounger and flopped onto its soft surface. He lifted the bottle and asked it, “Who gives a damn anymore? Me, that’s who.”

He drank until the bohut put him under, took him away from the bitter disappointment, fear, and heartbreak. He was unaware when the sleepless Erybet came back into the room.

The Dramok stared at his unconscious Imdiko for a few minutes, not bothering to wipe the silent tears that tracked down his face. At last Erybet sighed and came over to the lounger. His fingers brushed hair back from Conyod’s face, a face he’d adored since Sletran introduced them years ago. A face that looked at him with far too much despair and disappointment these days.

And with good reason. Erybet had failed both his clanmates, had failed them utterly.

The Dramok gathered Conyod in his arms and picked the insensible Imdiko up. He carried Conyod to bed, pulling his clanmate’s boots and clothes off before drawing the covers over him.

Erybet slid under the linens to lay next to him, watching Conyod sleep and praying to the ancestors that Sletran would come home safe. He thought he wouldn’t be able sleep himself until he knew the Nobek was all right. Yet weighty despair and exhaustion were enough that he drifted off within the hour.

Chapter 3

The self-styled Beast of New Bethlehem roamed the halls of the Matara complex, tracking the scent of the one who had caused such emotional pain tonight. It wasn’t enough that those like her had physically destroyed so many of his men. Had killed them outright. The devastation continued. Perhaps the bloodshed had ended, but the Earther women still annihilated Kalquorian men, this time through their hearts and souls.

He’d watched her tonight, though no one realized it. Had watched as she led on men that meant so much to him, men he’d die to protect. The disappointment on Erybet’s face had been gut wrenching when the capricious creature unfastened the beautiful necklace he’d presented her and handed it back.

The clan deserved so much better than the likes of this hateful woman, this monster that hid behind such a pleasing mask. And she … she should pay for humiliating them as she had. As she would, given the opportunity, humiliate the next clan and the next and the next.

She had to be stopped, and he was just the man to do it. He was the Beast of New Bethlehem, the destruction of the Earther destroyers.

He nodded to other Nobeks as he passed them, not worried that any would challenge him.

He’d learned the turnover of those guarding the Earther women who resided in the complex was constant. Kalquor had gone to the lottery system in an effort to keep the playing field level as to the clans who could vie for a female. It was deemed necessary to regularly rotate out the security. It was unfair to unduly tempt Nobeks with females they may never be able to clan or give them an advantage over clans whose Nobeks were not assigned guard duty.

Not only that, his forged identification clearances were impeccable, their frequencies tuned correctly to allow him access where he would be expected to have it. A career and rank in the military had given him access into the compound’s security system, since it was run by the military. He posed as a mere sub-commander, someone not worth a second look by most. He didn’t worry over running into any of his men either; the few that had survived New Bethlehem and hadn’t committed suicide yet were on administrative leave due to the trauma they’d suffered.

He slowly wound his way up to the fourth floor of the western side of the complex. He’d followed his quarry’s scent to the transport. There, the aroma had been lost in the scents of so many others. It was no matter; he’d known he would probably lose her. It also didn’t concern him that using the computer system was out of the question since queries would be tracked, if not outright questioned by anyone seeing him performing them.

There were simpler ways to hunt his prey to her lair. Laughably simple.

He went into the laundry intake, where the Mataras sent their clothing to be cleaned through motorized chutes. It ran only during the day, ensuring he would meet no one who might question his activities. Most of it was automated anyway, with manual backups should the system fail. Even the manual stations were organized so the staff could identify exactly where an article of coded clothing had come from and return it to its rightful owner once it was laundered.

It was only a matter of walking past the bins, inhaling the aromas of perfumes, natural body oils, a potpourri of soaps and lotions. The scents of women made him achingly hard, but he ignored his body’s eager response. He would never take pleasure with one of the Earthers, not after what they’d done to him and those who meant so much to him. Never.

He’d gone a quarter of the length of the laundry when he caught wind of her particular musk and the cloying perfume she wore. He drew closer to the wall with its chute openings that vomited out the clothes of the Mataras. His sensitive nose flared wide, searching for the correct output.

There. Directly over his head, two openings up. That was hers.

He bent to the bin beneath that opening and immediately spied the dress she’d worn tonight, right on top of the pile waiting to be sent to the sorters. He grinned, his fangs descending from the roof of his mouth in anticipation of the kill. Oh, this was just too easy, especially for a Nobek with his cunning and experience in tracking the enemy.

Taking the dress to the manual code scanner immediately gave him all the information he needed. Maria Byrne, Eighth Floor, Room 98.

All that was left was to go to the cache he kept in the back of the laundry’s cavernous storage room. He donned a housekeeping uniform and grabbed a two-tiered hover cart that no one ever seemed to notice was in the wrong department. On top of the cart’s shelf were a myriad of cleaning solutions and implements on top of a long cloth that draped low, hiding the empty second shelf.

He left the laundry, entering the corridor. He paused as the hallway turned left, as he always did before entering a new space. After only a moment, he rounded the corner, his gaze flicking up to glance at the recording vid lens mounted on the ceiling.

The recorders gave him no worry. He didn’t even bother to hide his face from the round, black disk that was even now sending a message to the security monitors that the signal had been interrupted. It would come back on line as soon as he had passed out of its view. He’d successfully perfected the portable frequency distorter shortly after the attack. It would have brought him much income and prestige if he’d presented it to the military. Techs had been trying to develop such a device for years without success.