“This will be difficult for you, Commander. You’ve put together a highly skilled crew and have smuggled weapons deep into enemy territory, but this next task will determine if you’re ready to enter the war against the Mokarran.”
“Enough of these beginner-level missions. What do you have for us?”
“Shalenotun VII is in the heart of Tri-Star Federation space, but with your cloaking technology you should have no issue arriving undetected.”
Australia programs the coordinates into the computer, calculating the travel time in her head before Athena confirms a course.
“The planet exports a great deal of raw material to the Mokarran fleet yards, which are constructing a new class of battle cruiser.”
“Disrupting supply lines will only delay the building, not stop it,” Australia brings up.
Maxtin won’t waste time offsetting a shipment. He’d disrupt the entire operation, Reynard considers.
“There are many Shalenotun who want to stop providing the Mokarran with their natural resources. The political leader, Micah Donkor, keeps funneling the Mokarran whatever they need.”
Australia searches her memory for that familiar name.
“Assassinating him will send the government into a chaotic uproar, stop the shipments, and allow a leader not willing to bend to Mokarran demands to be elected.”
“Is this the same Micah Donkor who signed the UCP charter?” Australia inquires.
“Donkor served with me during the Battle of the Twin Suns. I don’t know why he has chosen to ally himself with the Federation now. This request is not a light one, Commander.”
“We’ll follow orders, Admiral.”
Reynard listens carefully to the Admiral’s instructions and kills the transmission.
“I don’t like this.”
“Nor do I. You are not an assassin.”
“Australia, dig up everything on Micah Donkor. What happened after he left the UCP space thirty years ago? I want to know more about the friendship he and Maxtin had before we complete this mission.”
WATER BEADS COLLECT on her skin. No condensation should take place since she has no pores to perspire from. Sweating would cool her, but not in unnatural heat. The maintenance conduits extend throughout the complex are designed for smaller humanoids to travel through for any repairs. She’s convinced the Mokarran only keep so many humanoids assigned to the command base to fit in these spaces. They have removed many top-level non-Mokarran species from key positions, but not here.
ISN reports a Brillian General has retired from Command, opening more promotions for Mokarran. She believes it was for pomp and circumstance. To fool those foolish enough to believe everything heard on the ISN. If they don’t move too fast, no one will notice the replacement troops for leadership positions in the Tri-Star military will all be Mokarran. She noticed from processing the transfers.
Fear suspends her in the maintenance tube. She recorded the Mokarran’s religious ceremony in her attempt to learn the ancient forbidden language. Forced to hide from the clergy in the darkened chamber, she had no idea the heat had been elevated to uncomfortable levels. Nytalyan’s choice to survive ensures her suffering. Her discovery means her death and the end of the egg sacs within her abdomen. She has to escape soon not knowing how this temperature will affect her.
Able to learn and uncover the meaning of a few Mokarran words, she’s convinced only a select few understand what’s contained in their religious texts. Those meditating during prayer ceremony only know what the Mokarran priest’s translations demands of them. They are forbidden to read the book for themselves and not allowed to conclude if the actions the priest demand of them are the actions they would morally want to pursue.
Her colleagues would scoff at the idea Mokarran are capable of making moral choices, but it’s part of what makes sentient life intelligent—knowing how to choose the correct path. Something in the manuscript must deviate from what the priests now teach, or they would allow the plebes to read for themselves. They give out a pamphlet of edited typescripts. Once she knows the language she’ll prove it. Knowing how to speak will be key to understanding their plans.
Her bulbous eyes dry in the heat. Glancing at her watch, the ceremonial gathering completes in three minutes. So far in all her secret detecting of the ceremony, they end and commence exactly on time. The Shan-goroe transmits a hologram of himself to all his temples and never fails to be punctual.
She leans back, touching the wall. Nytalyan jerks forward, forgetting the heat should scald her, but it doesn’t. The metal, even the pipes, are not warm when she touches them. Something in the air causes the immense warmth. As she contemplates what could be so broiling, she wants to jump from the conduit knowing that her life could be in more danger from whatever warms her. The Mokarran exit within a minute, and she would live the longest part of her life under torture until they understood what she was doing. And that may not just be her life. The Mokarran would never believe she works alone, and their inquisitions would lead to the deaths of many innocent command staff.
The next problem—stumbling. Each step becomes full-knee trembles of a newborn calf. Whatever was in the conduit was more than just uncomfortable heat. It has left her sick, disoriented, and unable to move her feet. Anyone who discovers her now will be compelled to take her to the medical unit, leaving her vulnerable to questions. She knows her original plan of returning to her quarters and sleeping it off won’t cure her ailment.
She forces herself to wobble forward. If she does collapse, she wants to do it as far away from the temple chamber as possible. Maybe someone will believe she was doing something besides spying.
The vice grip of a strong hand clamps on her shoulder and sends the chill of death down Nytalyan’s spine. Her heart stops.
She stares up at her discoverer. “Just turn me in. I’ll tell you nothing.”
A smile fills Saltāl’s face. “I’ve no plans to report you unlike your squeals will.”
Nytalyan
