– but no longer. I need to see these three up close.
I slowly open the door wider.
My heart pounds like a rabbit as I slip out, walking as softly across the floorboards as possible. I was expecting my anxiety to flare up – building into a bubble, just ready to explode…
…but it’s strangely dormant.
It’s like I’m merely watching myself do this, and I’m being controlled by somebody else.
A good job, too – because what the hell am I doing? This isn’t safe! Just read about Aurelians if you want to learn about them!
That’s what I’d normally do, instead of actually living life. I’d just read about whatever interested me, safe in my room. My books have been my only companions for so long now.
But there’s something about the Aurelians downstairs that draws me to them. I have to see them up close. I’ve never felt a need like this before now. I’ve always wanted to see the other side of the walls, sure – the danger, adventure, and excitement. All things you can get when you aren’t surrounded by Sentinels and guarded closely by Gerard…
…but now, the purest and most distilled form of danger has been brought directly to me. The men downstairs are dangerous. They’ve seen things – done things.
I have to see them.
I slowly creep down the stairs. I put as much weight as possible on the banister and avoid the steps I know will creak beneath my weight.
I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear my father clear his throat. I freeze.
“Well,” he murmurs – trying to sound tough, despite being surrounded by three towering alien warriors. “I thank you for destroying those Scorp vessels – but we’re a long way from Aurelian territory. You have my thanks, but we don’t pay the taxes to levy Aurelian protection – so I hope you’ve not come here to strongarm me into paying you for a service you’ve claimed to have rendered me. That’s not how we do business on Marn.”
Despite his voice being raised, I actually relax when I hear my father’s words – because at least they’re not directed at me. I thought he’d heard me.
As my father speaks, I creep further down the stairs. My father sounds outraged and steadfast as his raised voice covers the sound of my footsteps, but I know how nervous he is. My father always uses long words when he’s nervous – as if the extra syllables will somehow give him more time to think.
The Aurelian responds to my father’s bluster:
“Don’t worry, Mr. Carani. We’re not after a fee – and we know all about how business is done on Marn.”
The words are said politely – but they’re a velvet-covered crowbar. My mouth suddenly becomes dry.
How business is done on Marn.
He’s referring to the business magnates and noble families who infiltrate, steal, kidnap, and take any advantage they can in the wheeling and dealing of Marn – just like every bottom-feeding crab will crawl all over the other crabs as it tries desperately to pull itself out of a bucket.
You don’t come to a planet like Marn – well beyond the Aurelian Empire or the Human Alliance – to play fair. You come to a lawless place like this to make your fortune without the yoke of high taxes – or the oppression of an over-zealous legal system shackled with notions like ‘justice.’
Here on Marn, our justice system extends as far as your credits do. The rich can act with virtual impunity, and are unaccountable as long as they maintain the right connections and have deep enough pockets. Once my father’s mining is fully operational, we’ll be that level of rich…
…assuming we get that far.
Speaking about getting far – I’ve now reached the bottom step. I feel the thrill of adventure – one I’ve never felt before. It must be akin to the thrill a baby bird feels, opening its wings for the first time and plunging from the nest, not knowing if it’s going to hit the ground or learn how to fly.
I step softly to the entrance of the lounge and peer through the door.
“If you’re not here for a fee,” my father’s voice is heated, “then what did you come here for? Show your hand!”
My father is sitting in his favorite leather chair, staring across at the three alien men.
Men?
No – Gods.
The three Aurelians are so immense – they carry themselves with such presence – that to describe them as ‘men’ like my father or Gerard seems like calling a lion a housecat. Compared to the two human men in this house, the three Aurelians are veritable – literal – Gods.
But these are not benevolent Gods. These are violent Gods – sent from the Heavens for a righteous purpose. As I peek at them through the barely-open door, it’s like I can taste their pent-up energy. The three of them lounge like lions in the sun – and though they’re sitting in my father’s most sturdy chairs, each of them look like they could spring into violent action at any moment.
The chairs they’re sitting in barely fit their huge bulks, and the wood creaks beneath their muscular weight. The ivory skin of the three Aurelians is inhumanly pale in the flickering light of the antique oil lamps of our lounge. The shadows play on their body, highlighting the peaks and valleys of their lean muscles as they sit stock-still. They resemble marble statues so much, it’s uncanny.
But their stillness is only an illusion. Even peeking from the doorway, I can see the heartbeats of the three Aurelians throb in the carotid artery of their necks – hammering in unison, as if the three of them all share the same heartbeat.
My father was wise. He brought four Sentinels into the room with him, despite the Aurelians being robbed of their weapons and stripped of their armor. Even at their most defenseless,
