Alien Paladin's Redemption (Warriors of the Lathar Book 13) Read online

  “Perhaps we could ask the chefs if they could make something close to lasagna?” Keris suggested softly, but Jay sighed.

  “No... because it will probably involve bugs, and that’s just not the same, you know?”

  “They have cheese,” Indra pointed out. At least, she’d seen cheese several times on the buffet. She reached out to pluck some fruit from the bowl at the center of the table. Small and round, it looked like an orange but was red and tasted like strawberries. Like an... orangeberry.

  “Bugs,” Jay said mournfully. “I asked once. Even tried to explain about how cheese is made but noooo... bugs.”

  “The Lathar do not have many milk-producing animals,” Keris added in a soft voice. “The few they have, the fluid they produce is not easily digestible by eighty percent of Lathar.”

  Indra looked up as she peeled her orangeberry. “You mean they’re lactose intolerant? Yeah, some humans are like that as well. And allergic to other things. Don’t stop us eating them.”

  If Keris could have blinked in surprise she would have. “Aren’t there... adverse reactions if you eat something you’re allergic to. Or have humans eliminated anaphylactic responses? Isn’t that somewhat dangerous? Those reactions are there to stop you hurting yourselves, surely?”

  Stephens chuckled. “They are, and no, we haven’t managed to get rid of them. We take medications to stop things killing us if we’re like, really allergic to them, but mostly we just suffer the consequences.”

  “Humanity,” Madison commented in a dry voice. “We have to be the only species in existence that will look at a chili hotter than the damn sun and think ‘Yeah… Imma eat that.’”

  Keris turned her faceplate to them and then shook her head. “I will never understand humans. I thought Lathar were crazy, but you lot are... you’re worse, much worse.”

  The group dissolved into laughter at the AI’s utter bemusement and Indra leaned back in her chair. It had been a long time since she’d had this, sitting around a table with a group of people without waiting for someone to stab her in the back. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.

  By the time Nyek reached the quarters assigned to him, his trunk had already been brought up from his flyer. He walked into the room, a low whistle leaving his lips as the door slid shut behind him. He’d gone from being sub-commander on a garrison where he’d had to bunk in the barracks with the rest of the warriors to a commander and the second of a capital ship with a room all to himself.

  Only it wasn’t a room. It was a damn suite all by itself. Larger than the main barracks back on the Tev’tolath, a large bed dominated the space under windows that gave a stunning view of the surrounding system. The shutters were retracted at the moment, but when the vessel went into combat, the armor would roll down to cover them, shielding all the weak spots in the ship’s hull.

  To the left of the bed was a large sitting space with low comfortable couches clustered around an entertainment screen, and to the right was what looked like an office area. An open door revealed a bathroom with its own shower and tub—luxury indeed and thoroughly wasted on him.

  Focusing on his trunk, he walked toward it. Some warriors had trunks that had been handed down through their families, wrought in folaanri or other expensive woods and banded with brasstic.

  Nyek’s wasn’t old, nor was it valuable. His grandfather’s weaponry had been all his father had been prepared to offer when he’d left home, so his trunk was a cheap plasti-wood affair he’d picked up on leave during his first assignment. Battered and scuffed after over twenty years, it was banded with ship-tape and the stamps from previous assignments. Like him, it was practical and serviceable, not fancy, so he’d never seen fit to replace it.

  Lifting it with a small grunt, he placed it on the bed and flicked the latches. It wasn’t locked. No warrior would ever dare to look in another’s personal trunk. It just wasn’t done. And besides, he would know if anyone had. The arrangement of his belongings was always precise and to a pattern known only to him.

  He lifted the lid and looked within. For a moment he didn’t move, checking the arrangement of everything before grunting in approval. As he’d suspected, nothing had been touched. There was a minor change in the placement of some items, but nothing more than natural movement during transit.

  Closing his eyes, he made the sign of the goddess and reached within for the box settled in the top left corner of the trunk. His fingers brushed over the wood reverently as he lifted it out. Carrying it to the side of the bed, he set it down gently before opening it.

  Within, the contents were carefully wrapped in an eedireen-silk cloth. His breath escaped him in a soft rush as he peeled it back to reveal the statue of the lady goddess. With careful hands, he decanted the rest of the items from the box and then, smoothing the altar cloth into place, began to set them up. His lips moved in prayer as he did so, consecrating this small space and offering his dedications to Liaanas. His offerings were in the hope she would smile down on him, the lowliest of her warriors, and grant him...

  For the first time in years his thoughts stuttered. Normally he prayed for the chance to die gloriously in battle to honor the goddess, but as he went to murmur the words, his tongue stalled and refused to form them. His brow creased in concentration as he tried again and then snapped open when he couldn’t force the words from his tongue.

  Instead, the image of Lady Indra, the waspish little human female, filled his mind. Irritated, he shook his head and tried to banish it... and her... from his thoughts. But he couldn’t, his mind expanding on the image until he could see the light of challenge in her eyes clearly and the little curve of her lip as she’d needled him. He growled, the sound filling the air around him as his hands bunched into fists.

  Little liiraas had known exactly what she was doing when she’d baited him, trying to get a rise out of him. She was exactly the type of trouble he didn’t need. Unlike other Latharian warriors, he didn’t want or need a mate. His life was dedicated to the goddess, and that’s all there was to it.

  Besides, there was no way any of the human females aboard were still unmated. Not with so many K’Vass aboard. He couldn’t see that Danaar would allow his men to be deprived, not when females were available, and they so desperately needed to rebuild their race.

  Any females found would have been secured and allocated to warriors in short order. So, he didn’t need to worry about her tempting him... all he needed to do was find her mate and warn him to keep his human in line.

  A deep, vicious growl filled the room and his eyes snapped open. For a moment he thought someone had crept in behind him to offer challenge. But the sound had come from his own throat. His fists were clenched so tightly his nails had bitten deep grooves into his palms—all at the thought of the irritating little human being mated to another male.

  Shaking his head, he laughed, ignoring the fact that the sound had an edge of disbelief and mania to it. He was just tired after a long journey and stressed at starting yet another assignment where he was disliked. That was nothing new. A few good nights’ sleep and he would be back on top form.

  Reassured, he closed his eyes and resumed his prayers. Everything would work out exactly as Lady Liaanas decreed. Of that he had no doubt.

  He’d finished his prayers and was looking over personnel files when he was interrupted by an alert that his shift on the bridge was about to start. When he arrived this time, it was not as a guest but as the new second of the ship. The red sash of his position crossed his chest over his open uniform jacket, and a new ident tag pressed against his skin.

  For a moment he allowed pride to fill him as he stepped onto the command deck, imagining this was his ship and somehow a Vesh had made it to war commander. It was a dream, he knew, but sometimes he couldn’t help the little hopes and yearnings of his soul.

  Turning, he walked across the deck to take the command chair. He didn’t bother to look at the faces of the crew he passed, not wanting to see the same closed of
f expressions. No doubt now the news that he was Vesh would have gone through the crew like wildfire, and minds would be shuttered against him. He would have no personal alliances with any of the crew. He would stand or fall on his own.

  Always alone.

  But despite all his expectations, the warrior who levered himself from the command chair to cede it to Nyek nodded in respect. “Commander, the deck is yours.”

  “Acknowledged...” It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his ears before he added haltingly, “...thank you.”

  “Commander,” the warrior said with a salute.

  He was one of Danaar’s seniors, if his braids and the rank notches on his leathers were any indication. Rank and position on a Latharian vessel were a complicated affair, depending on standing within a clan, time in service and battle record. A senior warrior could be relatively lowly ranked, yet still serve on the command deck with his commander, while a higher ranked warrior could be relegated to one of the lower battle decks if he was out of favor or not considered brave enough in battle.

  He could only imagine what the humans made of it, if they understood it at all. It was likely they didn’t. They were female, after all, and despite Lady Indra’s somewhat aggressive manner, they were much too delicate for combat service. From the little he’d been able to glean from elders who remembered when the Lathar had females of their own, those females had been delicate, fragile creatures who needed a male’s protection and guidance.

  That did contradict a lot of the old stories and myths surrounding the gods and goddesses, particularly the Lady Liaanas, goddess of war, but Nyek had long since realized those stories were allegories. It was unlikely females went into battle, so they had to be stories to inspire and teach rather than tales of real females in the past. Even the Lady Liaanas... some of her deeds were only possible through divine intervention. There was no way she’d been a simple warrior before ascending to the hall of the gods and taking her place there.

  The warrior nodded and turned away, leaving Nyek standing in front of the command chair. Turning smartly, he sat and logged himself into the command systems through the console built into the arms. A quick check of the current department status reports told him the ship was operating at full efficiency, with a routine maintenance scheduled on the port environmental systems’ generators later that day. His eyes narrowed as he noticed a request from one of the humans for something called “lasagna.” He had no idea what that was, so he made a note to research it. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to agree blindly in case he found out later he’d given permission for a weapon or for some kind of deadly creature to be brought on board.

  His lips curved into a small smile, wondering if it was a trap set up by the war commander. If so, he’d have to try a lot harder than that to get Nyek to misstep. He’d been playing this particular game as long as he’d been in service to the empire, and he’d gotten really good at it after the Vesh.

  But, as his gaze scanned over the crew on the command deck, he frowned. Something was different. Instead of the whispers and sly looks he was used to, someone always watching him for something they could report and get him relieved of duty, all he saw were warriors getting on with their duties.

  Occasionally one, sensing his gaze on them, would look up. But all they did was nod and go right back to what they were doing. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was like they didn’t even know what he was.

  A frown creased his brow and he rubbed at the stubble on his chin. Was that possible? Had K’Vass not told his crew? And if no... then why. What did that gain him?

  Unfortunately, without more information, his mind couldn’t begin to frame an answer to that question, so the communications officer clearing his throat was a welcome distraction.

  “Commander, incoming long-range from Lathar prime.” The warrior looked up, his expression a little wide-eyed. “It’s the emperor, sir. He wishes to speak to you and the war commander.”

  Nyek was out of his chair in a heartbeat. “Put it through to the conference room and notify the commander his presence is required.”

  He strode across the deck, heart almost beating out of his chest. How things had changed. He’d gone from training incompetents how to survive their first battles to speaking to the emperor himself...

  It was too good to be true; he knew that. Something was bound to happen to ruin this unexpected good fortune and put him right back to square one. But for now, he could at least enjoy the illusion.

  4

  Nyek wasn’t sure what to expect of his first meeting with Daaynal K’Saan. If he was honest, he’d never expected to meet the warrior emperor himself, even over long-range comms. He was a lowly S’Vaan... not the kind of warrior who could ever have expected to be in the emperor’s inner circle. Or anywhere close to it. Yet here he found himself, the second of a war commander who the emperor called directly. It was enough to make a male’s head spin if Nyek was the sort of male to be easily impressed.

  Fortunately, he was not, which enabled him to nod in greeting and make the correct salute to the emperor as he appeared in holographic form on the other side of the conference room.

  For a moment, Nyek spotted surprise and then something almost like recognition. But it could just as easily have been in his imagination because the next moment Daaynal’s expression was smooth and neutral, giving nothing away. Which was to be expected. A male like Daaynal didn’t retain the most sought-after throne in the known galaxy by wearing his heart on his sleeve. To play politics in the Latharian courts, he’d have to be as good an actor as he was a warrior... and on the battlefield there was said to be no equal.

  Nyek didn’t allow that to sway him. While he paid fealty to the emperor, he also served a higher power, that of the lady herself as shown in the golden beads at the end of his braids. Each signified that every honor was not for himself or for his clan but for the lady goddess herself.

  “Nyek S’Vaan, I presume?”

  Nyek barely managed to conceal his start of surprise. Even though he knew the emperor had ordered this assignment, he hadn’t expected Daaynal to actually know his name.

  “Yes, Imperial Majesty.” He gave a small bow, and by the time he straightened he had his expression under control. He didn’t know what game was being played here but there obviously was one. And he had no intention of becoming a pawn in a clash between the leviathans of the Latharian court.

  Daaynal’s gaze swept down him. “Excellent. You appear... hardier than I’d anticipated. But then a male who has survived the Vesh should be hardy.”

  “Through the grace of the lady herself I survived to serve the emperor.” He might have been a pious man, more concerned with faith and divine blessing than mortal dealings such as politics, but even Nyek knew sometimes he had to grease the wheels, especially with a male who literally held the power of life or death over him.

  Daaynal arched an eyebrow. “I’d heard you were religious, but I trust that will not impede you in your duties aboard the Izal’vias.”

  “No, sire, not at all.”

  The emperor folded his arms and studied Nyek with an implacable gaze. Being one of the newest ships of the fleet, the technology aboard the Izal’vias was the best available, so Nyek could see every detail of the emperor’s appearance right down to the way his combat leathers creased and pulled over his heavily muscled arms as he moved.

  It was like the male was actually in the room with him. There was none of the lag he’d seen when using the Tev’tolath’s system. Mind you, the freighter had been so old he was surprised it was still in service. It was of a type commissioned during his grandfather’s era and still ran the resupply routes. More or less. With plenty of stops for the many repairs and ad hoc maintenance it required to function.

  “Good.” Whatever answer the emperor had been looking for in his intense study of Nyek, he appeared to have found it and nodded in approval. “You have been assigned as second to one of my kin. I am sure you are aware why...”

 
Nyek nodded and, when the silence stretched out between them, realized he was required to answer. Trall. For a moment he stood in silent debate wondering whether to answer politically, which was safer, or truthfully, which could potentially get him killed.

  But his oath to the lady would not allow him to lie.

  “You needed to assign someone to appease the growing number of dissenters in the court over your favoritism of the clan your litaan mated into,” he said bluntly, drawing from the knowledge imparted by the conversation between General M’rln and his CO earlier as well as his own research after his prayers earlier.

  “Given that the S’Vaan clan are traditionalist, bordering on outright purist, my family name would assuage a lot of concerns that the throne has been corrupted by more forward-thinking clans. But given that I am Vesh and have excommunicated myself from my clan, there is no danger that you have assigned an active fanatic to a vessel that also contains human females. I am a safe bet,” he concluded, watching Daaynal’s face carefully. “A concession that is not a concession, but that you can hold up as an example that the throne is holding to the traditions and principles laid down by the lady herself.”

  A smile broke over Daaynal’s face, and he rubbed at his beard. “Now your father said you were the runt of the litter, barely worthy of the blades he sent you out into the world with, but I am coming to the conclusion he is an idiot, unable to see the weapon he let go in his ignorance.”

  Such praise, coming from the emperor himself, was completely unexpected, and for a moment Nyek stood there with his mouth open. “Err... thank you, Your Majesty.”

  Daaynal chuckled at his obvious surprise. “Don’t think I’m blowing smoke up your ass just because I want something from you. I do... I want your loyalty and your vow you will die before you allow harm to come to those females aboard.”

  Nyek inclined his head. “At your command, sire.”