THE TUB WATER provides little comfort for Nytalyan’s dehydrated epidermis even after she submerges herself completely. The Shalenotun atmosphere dries her outer covering. Her skin’s not like an Osirian’s, nor is it true fish scales. Once she transmits the information to UCP she must transfer back to the orbital command station. It will prevent further interaction with Saltāl, keeping their infidelities a secret.
Since their arrival on Shalenotun VII she’s had little contact with him. Anyone monitoring their movements wouldn’t consider them partners. His avoidance might be best for their protection, but his constant presence at command central was comforting after the loss of her spawn.
She bolts up.
Water splashes from the tub.
The door chimes again.
She did hear the bell despite being underwater. She pulls the plug drain before allowing the air to dry her skin. The brown scales provide camouflage at the bottom of the ocean, evolved to help her conceal her eggs from predators. She tosses a dry towel into the retreating water.
Saltāl and an unknown Shalenotun wait on the other side of the door. She steps back, allowing them to enter.
“Nytalyan, did you forget something?” Saltāl inquires.
“I was keeping as much moisture on my skin as possible. This planet dries me out.”
“You should still dress for our guest,” Saltāl suggests.
Unlike sapiens, humanoids with protruding mammaries, she has no such glands to give her figure curves. “I need the moisture. If I embarrass him with my lack of bulges, then exit my quarters.”
“The site of an unclothed Aequipinatus has no mortification to my comfort.” He has no inflection in his words, not even a monotone drawl.
Unsure of whether she should broach her relationship with Saltāl before this stranger, Nytalyan berates him instead. “It’s taken you five days to meet with me.”
“I didn’t want to put you at risk. The Mokarran security appears lax despite the increasing riots. I felt it was a trap.”
She questions if this male accompanying Saltāl may be trusted enough to know they conspire against the Mokarran. She keeps her admissions to a less incriminating discussion.
“They don’t have control here. The riots. Half the city is burning. I’m more scared on Shalenotun than I was at command when we uncovered—”
Saltāl cuts her off. “Did you scan for snoopers?”
“Nothing inside my room.”
The alien man opens a scanner, waving it up and down as he paces the room.
Saltāl pulls her shades, glancing at black smoke billowing into a haze that darkens the city in the afternoon. “They should relocate all command personnel to security quarters.” He taps the glass. “These apartments don’t even have reinforced windows.”
Nytalyan retrieves the towel from the drained tub. The dampness cools her skin.
“The room’s clean,” the alien says.
“Is this male a specialist in communications?”
“No, he’s part of the growing resistance.”
Nytalyan considers protesting, but she trusts Saltāl. He did save her life. Resistance fighters should have access to off-world transmissions. “Is it not a risk to bring him here?”
“I was part of Micah Donkor’s security staff. The Mokarran have yet to remove our clearances. Until they do I use my position to funnel information.”
The building shudders.
“If the demonstrators turn violent, the Mokarran will triple security.” Nytalyan reaches for the curtain.
Saltāl presses hard against her wet shoulders to prevent Nytalyan from viewing out the window.
“I don’t need a protector. We’ve done nothing to warrant surveillance outside standard random room bugging. You were never this paranoid back at command when we had reason to fear discovery. What’s transported in the last five days? Why haven’t you contacted me?”
“I was arranging for a communications transmission. The Mokarran are barely handling the riots. Security systems will fail, giving us our chance to send our discovery to Captain Kantian.”
“He’s been promoted to Admiral” Nytalyan prevents any more of Saltāl’s deflection. “You were going to use Svetlana?”
“I’ve spent a few days with the growing insurgents. With their help we have no reason to compromise others in command or risk your life.”
Nytalyan’s bulbous yellow eyes blink, unable to place why her friend no longer operates like the man who assisted her in uncovering the Mokarran religious crusade.
He protected her, but now his manner lacks the comfort he shared for her as she lost the eggs inside her womb. Five days apart doesn’t protect either of them and only hinders their progress in revealing the Mokarran’s true vision for the universe.
“Saltāl, we need fully committed assets to our cause if we are to halt shipyard production completely. The death of Micah Donkor at the hands of the assassin—”
“Donkor was a noted sympathizer to the Tri-Star Federation.” Nytalyan’s interruption steams the unnamed alien.
“Like you two, he worked within the system to defeat them. Donkor was undermining the Mokarran at every turn. He used his political influence to stall needed deliveries of ore to the shipyards. He backed up production. Those two new battle cruisers should have been completed six months ago—not a year from now,” the unnamed alien explains.
“Then the assassin’s bullet was misguided,” Nytalyan ponders.
“Mokarran sympathizers are everywhere. Donkor’s death allowed them to assume control of the planet without a full-scale invasion,” Saltāl says.
“The insurgents—”
“Dealing with limited resistance is not the same as invading a planet. Too many people here view the Mokarran as saviors. Under their rule the number going hungry has diminished.”
Nytalyan adds, “The shipyards provide jobs.”
“I’ve seen the starving younglings,” Saltāl says.
“There are no census numbers on the children, but I’ve noticed a decrease in the number of homeless since the Mokarran arrival,” Nytalyan says.
“You and I both know what they do with undesirables,” Saltāl says.
The room rattles from an explosion.
Saltāl races to the window. “They targeted something across the street.” Soot collects around the metallic frame, smudging the glass. “Flames burn the main gate.”
“Mokarran were the targets,” the alien says without glancing out the window.
Nytalyan has no trust for him. “They will initiate Martial Law. We won’t be able to complete our task,” Nytalyan says.
“Martial Law will bring about more insurgent attacks,” the unnamed alien warns. “Saltāl, we must go before they lock down this complex.”
“We need to explain Micah Donkor.”
Confirmation of Micah Donkor’s betrayal of the Mokarran explains much of what Nytalyan’s seen in the past days. They needed such a man to ally themselves with. He was succeeding at what they could not. Now she understands why the Mokarran refuse to parade even a fabricated assassin before the rioters. In their limited scope, the Mokarran refuse to honor a traitor, even if it means regaining control of the planet.
