Why did my exile have to be here? Although they were not fully primitive, with running water and power along with basic technology to facilitate off-world trading and communication, the residents of Kimithion III did not possess ships capable of light speed or any significant weaponry. They engaged in limited trade with other planets, primarily because they had little of unique value to exchange. The land wasn’t arable enough for large-scale farming, and their planet’s core contained no valuable minerals. They did have rich waters from which they harvested sea creatures and water plants for food and medicinal purposes, but that wasn’t something other planets valued as much as the planet’s natives did.
From what I’d learned, they managed to do enough of a trade in kelp and seaweed powders to acquire the grains and other supplies they didn’t produce, but residents didn’t enjoy much in the way of luxury. Clothes were basic, personal ornamentation was not favored, and the dwellings cut into the cliff face were simply furnished. The flip side was that they held nothing of value to attract the empire’s notice, which was why they’d been allowed to live without Zagrath interference. That, and they were a tiny planet, with only a few pockets of residents gathered around the planet’s wide seas, which they called the shallows. The empire paid little attention to such an insignificant planet with nothing to mine for profit.
Which was one of the reasons why I was there, living in the largest of the planet’s villages. No imperial soldiers to notice me or for me to attack. I grunted. At this point I’d be thrilled to see an imperial soldier to save me from the boredom of the rudimentary society.
The alien planet might not be a total wasteland, but compared to the sophisticated technology of the Vandar ships, it felt like living with barbarians. I understood the irony of that thought because since I’d arrived, most of the natives had been eyeing me like I was the barbarian. It probably didn’t help that—like all Vandar raiders—I wore only a leather battle kilt and my boots with an occasional strap around my chest. Everyone else on the planet wore cloaks that covered them from head to toe or hooded jackets and long pants to protect them from the dust and heat.
A Kimitherian stepped from one of the shops, his iridescent, greenish-blue scales flashing at me from beneath his hooded cloak. He raised a webbed hand when he saw me, and I nodded in return, reminding myself that growling at everyone would not make my tenure on the planet any easier.
He ducked back into his shop, then returned moments later holding out a cup. When he crossed to me, he held it out. “Kimithion tea.”
Even though he spoke the universal tongue, his words were staccato. I’d heard the native language, and it wasn’t more than a series of sharp clicks that were nothing like Vandar or the universal tongue. He held out the cup without blinking, vertical pupils in his yellow eyes holding mine.
I considered waving him off, but I didn’t want to be rude. After all, I was stuck here for the foreseeable future.
“Thank you.” I took the cup and gave him a small bow of my head.
His wide, green lips stretched into his version of a smile as he watched me take a tentative sip and then freeze. “It is made with algae from the shallows.” His grin became a chuckle as I choked on the pungent beverage. “It will make you live forever.”
“I don’t think it’s the tea that does that,” I said, as he turned and hurried back to his shop, his ivory cloak snapping around his bare, webbed feet.
Although the drink did taste of murky seawater, the warmth of the liquid filled my belly, so I finished it while I considered what he’d said.
His words had been in jest. The tea didn’t make the people on the planet live forever—at least I didn’t think it was the strange beverage—but, the fact was, the residents of Kimithion III did have unnaturally long life.
My first evening on the planet, I’d been visited by a representative from the Kimitherians and one from the humans. The two males had explained to me that the planet contained some sort of energy that granted its inhabitants lifespans that lasted hundreds of solar rotations. It wasn’t that they were immortal. They could be killed by accident or violence, but they did not age noticeably once they reached maturity.
I swallowed the last tangy dregs of the tea, shaking my head both from the taste and the unbelievable story they’d told me. At first, I’d been skeptical, but they had no reason to lie to me. Not only that, but their population also contained no aged residents, and I myself had experienced a strange phenomenon I couldn’t explain away.
I raised a hand to my face, my fingers going instinctively to the scar that cut across my cheek. The one I’d gotten in a particularly bloody battle with the Zagrath. While it hadn’t vanished, it had become thinner over the days. Now instead of a bumpy slash, it was a raised seam.
Taking long strides to the tables the Kimitherian was placing outside his shop door, I handed him back his earthenware cup. “Thank you for the tea. What do I owe you?”
The alien waved his hands, the heavy sleeves of his cloak flapping. “It is we who owe you for training our young males.”
I almost groaned at the reminder. Another part of the visit from the community representatives had been their impassioned plea that I help them train a militia so they
