Nrog cleaned himself up with aromatic suds in tubs of water set to the side. Soon these had grown murky with darkened blood. The wrestling match had been a violent one and quick. Baglaiksh overestimated himself; he had foolishly wasted himself on a half lock to Nrog’s upper motilators, the strongest. Easily Nrog had twisted out of that strangling hold and unleashed his own paralyzing grip. The error had cost the pup dearly. Baglaiksh lay sprawled in his own filth with two mangled motilators and much blood. The upstart crawled with difficulty, rasping wheezes along the way, amid sand and sawdust spread upon the floor.
The aide, fluttering tentacle tips, had crept back to wait expectantly.
Let the Consul wait. These Mentera were far too officious as it was. They demanded this and that like petty dictators, as if they owned the whole of space.
Nrog glided through the weapons bay of his Orb battle cruiser. He ran eager eyes over the deployment of his armaments. One by one the warships came out of light drive before Quenrix.
One thousand attack Orbs! With half as many stealth Orbs for dogfighting and recon. The Mentera were left with the dirty task of rounding up human slaves planet-wide to appease their vampirish hungers. The Zikri kept the Quenrix space clear and secure of any defending space fleet. The Mentera got their choice of the slaves, the Zikri got the planet’s resources—the mines, the factories and the remaining humans as slaves. A mutual win-win for both sides.
Nrog was under no illusion as to how the Mentera were using the Zikri’s muscle to subjugate the galaxy. He had confidence that his armada of Orbs could defeat the Mentera lightfighters if it ever came to an all-out skirmish. Zikri-Mentera past relations had not been free of incidents of mutual aggression, each had never trusted the other. Too often Mentera raiders would initiate an attack and enslave Zikri in their despicable tanks. He would not allow such practices to continue, nor would he put his faith in any sworn treaties or promises, or any overt displays of cooperation. All just lip service. Zikri and Mentera had been enemies since the beginning. It was a miracle that this alliance had even taken shape—only by his own diplomacy in promising the Mentera a hefty booty of slaves and territory. Personally, he did not like the idea of Mentera infantry amassing so much power in the acquisition of new slaves. It could fuel their race for centuries, if not a millennium.
“Sir, our forces are ready to strike—”
Nrog stared at his aide, as if nothing could be more obvious.
“—yet we have reported irregularities among the Mentera ranks.”
“What irregularities?”
“Three lightfighters on the right flank. Fighters Meijk, Breulk and Kiuk wing breaking rank, drifting in uncharacteristic patterns. Transmissions have been routed on unauthorized encrypted channel.”
“Who are they?”
“Our database reports them as scouts from Kraetoria.”
Betrayal? Nrog’s eyes narrowed. “Scouts? Investigate it. We don’t want any security leaks or anomalies,” he said with a dangerous edge.
The aide snuffled and turned away.
“Incompetent locusts. Monitor them, Fuxifix. Inform Consul Jnedz and have him talk to First Officer Jring. It could be just technical glitches. But maybe not.”
“As you wish, sir.” The aide departed, gliding out on sleek motilators.
Nrog chittered under his raspy breath. Sloppy, stupid locusts. The invasion’s assured success relied on clockwork precision. The assault must go as planned. There must not be anything to impede it. Odd that Jring and his captains had not dealt with the anomaly. They probably did not consider it a threat. No matter. All would be settled before long.
* * *
The arrogance of Nrog’s communication did not cease to amaze Princeps Jring, commander of the Mentera army. He looked out to the stars from his stateroom on the LU destroyer with the same pride he always had. Though with more doubt and perhaps critical apprehension than usual. This allied venture could go all wrong, if proper protocols were not observed. Everything executed according to protocol and logic. No stone left unturned. He mustn’t underestimate these humans. They’d eluded subjugation before and thwarted Mentera manifest destiny. But with those staggering numbers of lightfighters and Orbs out there, how could the invasion fail? Eight thousand attack craft gathered already. And more by the minute as the Zikri forces hyperdrived in from distant destinations.
The Zikri troubled him. Merciless, ruthless savages, half squid, half amphipod, beings who kill first, ask questions later. Creatures known for their superior strength and brutality, but they were nowhere near as intelligent as was he, or his race in general. He would see that they remain subjugated, kept in their place, mere tools to serve the Mentera’s purpose. This ambitious leader of theirs, Nrog, was by no means stupid…the squid was a threat and not to be treated lightly. A dangerous ally who could turn on them when the moment was ripe. He must ensure this did not happen.
Jring both dreaded and was titillated by the thought of their first meeting. That would be soon enough.
He exited his private lodging, leaving behind the commanding view of the stars, and clacked down the U-shaped halls, pausing to scrutinize and examine the attack plans posted on the walls of various crew and engineers. He jingled along, bands of resinous gold metal clipped to his hind legs to show his exalted rank. As far as male locusts went, Jring was short and slender; for this reason, he walked on his hind legs with less of a stoop and crouching gait to compensate. He kept his chitinous carapace oiled and gleaming a slick, fulsome green. More a deep, disturbing jade than his blackish-green or copper-plated Mentera compatriots. An impressive presence nonetheless.
At last he came to the great arch of the central drive of the destroyer’s hub. An unfathomable construction…a massive dome stretching as high as the eye could see
