Chapter 116: Rey'zel
“How is your healing?” Sahari asked, bending forward to pass him some water. He accepted the cup, taking a deep drink as he remained seated against a wall in the sun, watching the pack slowly reestablish their usual routine. The only variance that broke the illusion of normalcy was the occasional Trilaxin or human wandering the settlement with both hesitation and curiosity. It was strange seeing more of the species that the pack had grown to associate with their Grand Hunter, but he was unique enough that none made the mistake of addressing the alien doctors or security as their leader. He wasn’t sure any would socially survive the blunder, anyway.
Jax flexed his leg, feeling the muscles in his thigh stiffen around the stitches. “Well enough, I would say. They informed me that I am expected to make a full recovery within a few suns, should all go well.”
The black-furred female sat next to him on the ground, resting her arms on bent knees. “How are the others recovering?”
“I awoke in a room with them after my procedure,” he provided, taking another sip. “From the conversations I overheard, most are experiencing no issues. The male who required the most extensive work is expected to be moved back to his den within a sun or so, though his natural mending will take some time.”
Sahari nodded, her ear flicking as she accepted his answer.
He wasn’t oblivious to her worry, nor the emotion leaking into her casual tone as she spoke to him. They had shared food when there was little, warmth when none was to be had from the environment, and now they share a den under the one who they dedicated their lives to. They spoke of old wounds and bitter memories, difficulties and hesitations, and now they speak of recovery and hope. She was scared to accept that their struggle was being solved with little action of their own.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in. “Accept the blessing for what it is, Sahari. The Hunt Mother has listened.”
The ex-Grand Huntress sunk into him, her eyes falling to the ground and scouring the grass for her thoughts. “I just wish Dalton could witness all of this. His joy would be overwhelming. Perhaps it would then feel real.”
Jax tensed at the mention of her previous bond, then let the initial reaction fade. “The carrier you operated with him was for this purpose, was it not? Meeting the unknown beings throughout the stars?”
A dry chuckle escaped the female. “Freedom, really. He wished to be beholden to no other, thus we sought our own method to support ourselves. It was never a secret that he was holding onto such a wish, however; none would turn their shuttle towards aliens faster than him. He would spend moons wondering aloud about them.” Her expression fell from the nostalgic fondness. “I am almost glad he was never forced to see that desire shatter when the Union attacked.”
“It would be interesting to see his reaction to our Grand Hunter, regardless.”
A smile graced her muzzle as thankful eyes turned towards him. “I believe he would spend each moon praising Joseph’s kindness and vilifying those who stripped us of our dens.”
“Ah, yes. Yet another to offer their mate and self,” Jax teased. “I am sure our illustrious leader would appreciate an additional proposition.”
The light shove paired well with the playful titter replacing Sahari’s morose tone. “I ponder how long it will be until the balance you two have established will tumble and break.”
“Until he gives in to his baser instincts?”
She rolled her eyes at his smug lilt. “Jest now, but there is only so much that one can deny.”
The black-furred male let Sahari brace herself on his shoulder as she stood. “Then it is rather fortunate that I deny nothing, no?”
“Perhaps,” she returned, an ear tipping towards further down the pathways. Jax watched her stare fall back into wistfulness as her thoughts lingered on the bond she once cherished. He opened his muzzle hesitantly and softened his voice.
“Have you not expressed these musings with Nalah?”
Her flinch told him enough, but she answered after a moment’s pause. “I...wish not to remind her.”
“Of?”
Her paw gestured to her snout before falling limply to her side. “She speaks not of it, but our...circumstances weigh on her. If I were to reminisce on my time with him, would it not be akin to wishing to feel such a connection again? To feel it reciprocated?”
He refrained from answering immediately, cautious of tipping the scales of conversation towards a premature end. “Is she not aware that such applies to your bond with Joseph?”
“...Not in so many words, no. He can not give me what I once had, so the comparison fails. Were it to be Dalton...”
“Then it would be inevitable,” he finished sagely. Sahari nodded, her gaze falling downwards.
“I have harmed her in many ways, Jax, yet each time she has pushed forward, never knowing if I would reciprocate. How could I voice such without seeing the sting of her pain, aware that I will never truly experience it.”
“It is just as disquieting for yourself,” he surmised, his paw touching his own nose. Never would he feel what Harrow felt through the bond. Never would he be able to give her the feeling of security that comes with such an intimate connection. Unless he...
No. He deserved his injuries for his transgressions. For the sin of almost taking the kit of one who he had come to cherish as much as his mate. The one who he promised a place in raising his young.
The one who stripped the ability to bond from him in the first place, and the one who frequently apologized for doing such, despite his right to far more.
The one who would berate him, if he only knew...
Sahari’s brow raised in curiosity before giving a nod to someone approaching out of view. Jax turned his head, adjusting his posture to compensate for his blind eye. Smiling at the familiar form giving him respite from his thoughts, he waved over his mate, Harrow finally finding a moment to come see him amongst her busy schedule.
The orange-furred female kept her paws in the large pockets of her vest, her hood held up by her ears poking through the cutouts as it shielded her face from the sun. He noticed the effort to slouch—a casual attempt to hide her ever-so-slightly developing stomach. Were it not for the form-fitting attire that Pan provided, he supposed it would work well enough. As it was, it simply made Harrow seem even more worn than she was.
“Glad to see you are well, Harrow. How are the examinations?” the ex-Grand Huntress greeted, stretching out from her own stiffness at the sight of the female. Harrow glanced down at him as she approached, her tired eyes helping to sell the exhaustion she used to cover her condition. A flash of concern crossed her face as she got close to him, but she pushed it aside to smile for the black-furred female.
“Hey, Sahari. They’re going pretty well. I finally managed to convince Bratik to be seen, so Sorren has put aside his services for a while to be there for him.”
“Oh? Will they be able to mend the damages?”
The Head of Technology yawned, blinking a few times to work out the tear it brought. “Hopes are high, though nothing can be said for sure. We’ll find out when they put him under, but the biggest worry right now is his leg. The doctors say his arm and shoulder should be pretty easy.”
“His leg?”
Jax shuffled to the side at a nudge from Harrow’s foot, freeing a spot for her to claim on his blind side. She plopped herself down and got comfortable before sighing in relief. “The muscles and tendons around our knees are apparently a little tricky to work with for them, but I kind of spaced out during the explanation, so I can’t really tell you why. There's been a lot of translation, so most things sort of get forgotten after I’ve said them.”
He let his arm drape around her shoulder, pulling her in the small distance that remained and feeling her melt against him. “I would have thought you adored the opportunity to hear yourself speak.”
His mate’s expression was woefully obstructed from his reduced field of view, but the claw jabbing his ribs got the message across. “That’s you.”
Jax faked a gasp. “I will have you know that I have only ever spoken when it is strictly required.”
“Joe says differently.”
He nodded resolutely. “I must ensure our Grand Hunter is aware of his options at all times. Such is my duty.”
“He’s going to get you back for it at some point.”
“Shall I stop?”
“Hunt Mother, no. I want to watch what happens when he does,” Harrow returned with a laugh. “He tackles me awake for fun. I’d love to see what he gets up to for payback.”
Sahari snorted, nodding towards Jax. “Hopefully, his retaliation involves less severe outcomes.”
“He deserves it sometimes, with how much he teases me,” his mate protested lightly, her teasing tone tampering the barb.
“Perhaps.” The black-furred female shook her head. “Regardless, such is all the time I have for my break. I must return to Nalah and arrange shifts.”
The mated pair bid farewell to their friend, Harrow shuffling until she was in a position to rest her head on his lap, Jax flattening his legs with only mild discomfort to accommodate. She closed her eyes, her breathing settling after so much time spent speaking for others. His paw absently rested upon her stomach as he watched the scant members of the pack continue their sun.
“What made you so conflicted?” she asked, his gaze falling to meet hers. Worry peered up at him through cracked eyelids.
“Nothing of consequence,” he assured, smiling at seeing her so relaxed after such a long time spent with a weight on her shoulders. Though he knew not what transpired between her and Joseph after the attack, she had returned from the events stronger in mind than she entered. If it was to do with her past as he suspected, then perhaps their Grand Hunter was chosen as the one to carry her burden alongside her.
It amused a part of him to feel so at peace with the conclusion. If there was one who he trusted his everything...
“Something,” she refuted sternly. “Tell me.”
His exhale drew further displeasure from her as she frowned. He rubbed her stomach, the thought that their kits would be brought into the world soon enough adding pain to his indecision.
“Do you resent that I may never bond to you?” he asked quietly, as if the very thought haunted him. And it did, to a degree. She deserved far more than the Hunt Mother had given her up until this point, yet even the gift she was eventually afforded was incomplete.
Harrow’s eyes hardened, losing their edge as she averted her gaze. Her voice slipped out softly. “I’ve thought about it, but it’s hard to hold onto the feeling.”
“Is it?”
Her paw limply motioned towards the direction Sahari departed. “Nalah is bonded to Sahari, but will probably never receive the bond back; I think both of them have come to terms with that. Pan, Tel, and Sahari are bonded to Joseph, but he can’t even begin to imagine what he’s missing. I don’t think he knows just how hard it is on them at times—what it’s like having a part of them pining for a level of understanding he can’t give.”
Jax’s thoughts turned to the countless conversations where such a topic was broached in the privacy of the baths, or during their occasional hunts. “He is aware. Perhaps not of the sensations, but of the loss. For one not of our own, he carries the regret just the same.”
His mate smiled wryly. “Regret, huh? That sounds right.”
“I am sorry.”
Harrow blinked, focusing on him. “For what?”
“For not being able to give you what you seek.” He closed his eyes. One decision changed everything—and could change everything again, yet he simply couldn’t bring himself to make it.
Not with knowing why he was given it, nor why it needed to be given in the first place.
A soft touch on his cheek drew his eyes open, Harrow’s sorrowful visage almost enough to make him flinch.
“Jax...” Her pads ran over his fur, her voice wet and low. “There are a lot of things I wanted in my life, but what I have now... What we will have soon? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love you, and bond or not, our kits will love you. If nothing else, be there for them. No matter what. I could live the rest of my suns happily as long as you promise me that.”
There was a plea in her words that transcended their conversation until now, an echo of a wish long since died out. He knew portions of her past—enough to be aware that she had lost her den and siblings at a young age—but there was a gravity to such a small request that seemed to crush her for the mere act of voicing it. He leaned down to kiss her gently.
“Nothing will take me from them, Harrow. I will not allow it, and Joseph will not allow it. Our kits will not be alone.”
A tear formed in her eye as she smiled. “Then don’t worry about stupid things we can’t change, okay?”
He nodded, suppressing his guilt to allow his mate the grasp of rest that toyed with her. Her breathing deepened a result, sleep taking her swiftly upon his lap. He ran his claws over her features. A whisper escaped him, hiding within the breeze that brushed his mate’s fur.
“Things we cannot change...”
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Mi’low directed the repair efforts, dismantling idle chatter as she went. Of course, her objective was to distract from the more morose topics that surfaced, rather than steal the moments of reprieve from the grieving.
Though it was not asked of her, she busied herself maintaining the morale of the pack. The Grand Hunter was ensuring that his allies were indeed such, and the Heads were chaperoning the members in need of medical assistance—as well as acting as translators when required. That left quite a few Lilhuns lost in their memories as they stared at dried blood where their loved ones once laid.
If nothing else, her years of acting and stage presence allowed her to direct the emotions of others to a degree; she would hardly be worthy of her Aspect if she was unable to guide the flow of a room. The Smoke might obscure the truth, but it could also prevent sight to that which should not be seen. It was her duty to obfuscate the bitter truth from the pack. They hardly needed more reason to feel sorrow. Not while they were still processing the events. Her words of chastisement—while bitter and callous—allowed them to redirect their focus to the future. A path towards rebuilding and new comrades.
Anything other than the losses that the High Huntress diverted their attention from.
Her own pack within the main group survived the assault well, barring some minor injuries. Their task of assisting the wounded during the brunt of the attack lent them to being the first to evacuate, and ensured that those barely clinging to the threads of life were able to continue.
It did nothing to halt the loathing she held both for herself, as well as the Grand Hunter who returned from his ‘hunt’ bloodied and vacant. Hasen was slain by his paw, and not an ounce of elation permeated the settlement in his wake.
Only sorrow.
It was humorous, really. Laughable. The male’s pack, armed with little more than crude kinetics and curious close quarters doctrine, managed to repel—nay, *be triumphant over—*a force many times larger than themselves...and yet his mourning for those lost left not a mote of joy for the survivors. Furthermore, the pack joined him in feeling defeat instead of victory. They too gathered the bodies and constructed the pyres, tears wetting fur and sobs staining prayer.
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Never had she felt so conflicted. Her instincts screamed for roars of vigour in the face of destroying the enemy, yet her heart reached out to those of her pack—her strange kin, obsessed and stricken by the loss of an insect along with their packmates. She would never admit it, nor humour the conversation, but she did silently weep that moon. If not for the ones her Aspect hid from the Void during their passing and the alien whose final act was to protect them, then for the female she once was. Oh, how blessed her past self was to never know emotion free of script and calculation. Never know the begrudging respect given to one who she feigned devout loyalty.
To never know just how loyal she would actually become, and how genuine such respect would turn out to be.
How the thought of it all coming crashing down would bring fear with it.
She gathered with some of the other members near the lodge, her commandeered office serving as the apparent location to deny all of the requests to hunt that were uttered by the desperate—not that she judged them for it.
They wished to assist in any way they could in an effort to escape their own perceived inadequacy. Their hunter den-mates had passed, and their time amongst other leaders sowed fear of starvation or maltreatment into their very bone. Bile threatened to burn Mi’low’s throat as she gently laid to rest such considerations. The Grand Hunter would have her head if he thought she spread such worry.
Perhaps it would once be an idle jest, but now? She wasn’t so sure. His scent had changed upon his return from vengeance, and with it, his limits.
“You’re Mi’low, right?” the other notable human in the settlement called, approaching the hunter’s lodge with his avian mate. The blue-feathered female was considerably smaller than him—about Huntress Pan’s height—and chirped a greeting in tandem with the male.
The High Huntress pushed down the disdain she had for the unpredictable variables that arrived from on high to solve their plights, conveniently too late to spare the grief of those she led. She dismissed the gathered pack and gave Kelth a subtle nod to send him on his way. She had no doubt there was a Wraith within range should they try anything—or her, for that matter.
“I am. High Huntress under Grand Hunter Joseph,” she stated evenly, keeping her expression equally as flat. An amiable tone would be best, but one just shy of hostile was all she could muster in the face of more complications. The stiff posture pulled at her abdomen, a wince flickering across her face.
The male smiled, extending a paw. “Robert, Joseph’s brother. This is Silva, my fiancee and the representative for the Trilaxin.”
She accepted the gesture, nodding tersely in acknowledgement of the winged alien. As much as she wished not to be in the presence of yet more Union-aligned creatures, she couldn’t deny that their aid—however delayed it may be—was invaluable. “To what might I owe the pleasure?”
Robert’s brow raised slightly. “’Straight to business’ kind of person, huh?”
“Only when the alternative is to have my tasks waylaid by mere pleasantries.”
The friendly expression on his face slipped, a disappointed one showing through. “I take it you’re less than enthusiastic about us being here.”
Her eyes narrowed by just a fraction. “I am not as quick to trust as our Grand Hunter.”
“And you’re right not to,” he agreed instantly, offsetting her. His understanding nod and casual acceptance struck her as strange, but the male remained unaware of her increasing scrutiny. “We’re both species registered with the government that tried to wipe you out. I’d be suspicious too.”
“Then—“
“—But we’re not here to do anything other than help the people that my brother calls family,” Robert interjected, smiling apologetically for his interruption. He continued, oblivious to the agitated flick of her tail. “Me and Sil are just going around to thank the ones who kept things running in the background. Without people like you, this place would have fallen apart a while ago. Joe’s more likely to burn this place to the ground, if you leave him alone long enough.”
Mi’low blinked, her ear flicking as she processed the words—the subtle needling against the fate of her previous settlement, the blatant disregard for her right to be heard, and then a slight against one who earned every drop of respect they were shown by suffering alongside them. The immediate ire ruptured the surface too quickly for her to suppress it, her growled voice snapping out before she even knew she had spoken.
“You would do well to still your tongue before I cut it out myself, kinship be damned.” She jabbed a claw at the sibling, the full-body tension sending shocks of pain through her stomach, but her unprecedented rage overpowered it. “He has spilled the blood and marrow of that which sought to harm what is his, salvaged the broken and beaten from the grips of the Void, and given sanctuary to those who were provided naught by their kin. It is by his edict that there are those still breathing for you to feel superior to, after arriving far too late to ensure more could return to their dens that moon.”
Robert’s eyes widened, the avian by his side mirroring the shock. The High Huntress tempered her anger, exhaling sharply as she composed herself, the indignation still burning in her eyes. One or possibly both moved to speak, but she was having none of that, barking out her words before either could dispute her.
“That male is many things, and though some may be unflattering, never let it be claimed he is any but the one who we owe our lives. We live in mourning because we still possess life at all. To that, we attribute to him. Not your belated aid, nor the precarious promise of cooperation that you no doubt push through careful words and honeyed tongue.”
Mi’low straightened her back, posturing herself with pride in the male that she never thought she held. “We knew our defensive positions because they were drilled through recreation he devised. We knew our weapons because he made sure each iteration was distributed to all of those who followed him, then made commonplace amongst even the lowest of station. We stymied the bleeding of our kin because the Atmo he protects shared with him their findings, and in turn, with us. We fought well beyond our limits because we were of food and rest enough to do so, free of the laborious struggles to find sustenance and given the privilege of leisure to ease weary minds. Our people are stalwart in our decision to support the one who saw past the veil of threats and insults—gleaning the desperation and hopelessness beneath—and returned to us something to fight for.”
She stepped forward, ignoring the feathered-female puffing up defensively. Though the male was taller, she had never felt so domineering—his step backward earning no ground as she came but a fraction from his face.
“You stand on the hallowed ground of the Guardian, new one. If I must spill your ichor, let it be known I do so defending that which he has accomplished, and which you have no right to criticize. The Hunt Mother would smile upon me for it.”
Without waiting for a rebuttal, she spun on her pads, seething as she stepped out of view. Once she was far enough away, she fell, barely catching herself against the wall of a den. Her paw came from her stomach slick, the crude stitches torn from the irate display.
“My, how exciting!” an unwelcome male commented. Mi’low glared at the other previous Grand Hunter in the settlement out of the corner of her eye, the chemist’s expression practically beaming his interest while he took his time approaching the alley she was sheltering in. She made no attempt to conceal her annoyance.
“Seeking something of me, Toril?”
The tail-less male placed a fist to his chin as he leaned this way and that, his detached smile failing to distract from the analytical cold in his gaze that pierced through the shade. “That was quite the show, if I must say. Do tell, what inspired such a reaction? Sadly, I have yet to replicate your level of synchronization and was left unaware of the content.”
Her ear twitched, lips curling into a snarl. Between pain and emotional responses that even she was struggling to understand, the High Huntress had no patience for the Void-touched male. She tilted her paw down to hide the sheen of blood, thankful that her fur matched the fluid so closely in colour. He would undoubtedly smell it, but as long as there was no obvious source, he would ignore it in favour of more interesting matters.
Unfortunately, the other interesting matters at paw were also things she wished not to discuss. At least not until she understood them first.
“Strange you would busy yourself listening in on conversations not pertaining to yourself, Toril,” she scoffed, letting the burn of her reopened wound fuel the irritation in her voice. “Do you not have a ship full of curious beings to pester?”
The male paused in his teetering. He stood up, his smile broadening and eyes meeting her own. “You are quite right, but none quite spark my curiosity like the Grand Hunter and his kin. The former you have a proven record of antagonizing to various degrees.” The sharpness in his stare unsettled her as always. “It brings into question why you would seek to be the same with the sibling as well.”
“Need I have reason to detest them?”
Toril paced back and forth, humming a tune to himself as his paws clasped behind his back. “It is not my place to presume, but the fact remains.”
Mi’low’s tail flicked as she feigned disinterest. “Find your way to activities worth your time, Toril.”
The male slowed in his step, observing the High Huntress before nodding. “Very well, but do note that your distrust of others is clouding your judgment.” He tipped his head towards her stomach. Her effort to remain facing his constant wandering had faced her into the thin sliver of sun peering over the rooftops, the light shimmering off a wet patch of fur.
She glanced down, internally cursing the infernal male and his endless ability to agitate her. By the time she raised her head, only the final flutter of his coat was visible as he made his departure.
The High Huntress settled for mentally berating him as she exhaled, leaving the alley behind to find Kelth. He would patch her up without informing the others. He understood her need to appear strong—and more importantly, he would be very happy to be a distraction.
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“First Claw,” a voice called from outside her office aboard the Smokeless Hunt. The plaque on her desk displayed as much, and she still found the naming convention tasteless. Regardless, she was in charge of the vessel, and thus the one who was sought. She muted the video on her terminal, adjusted her coat, and swiped her credentials to unlock the door. It played the usual fabricated hiss before opening, revealing one of her communication officers placing a fist to their heart, their tail pinned against their spine in subservience.
“This one carries a report from the high ones.”
“You may enter,” she intoned authoritatively, sitting upright in her chair and placing her paws on the table. As much as she despised acting far more proper than her upbringing would make her comfortable, the chain of command is but one of many ways to hang.
She watched patiently as the soldier fully entered the room, depositing a physical storage disk on her desk before stepping back and providing the final instruction they were permitted to know. “Details are to be decoded with the hash ‘one-four-nine-four-nine-three.’”
Even at the respectful posture stretching them to their full height, they were considerably shorter than her. Most Lilhun’s were; her bloodline lent itself to large, imposing people, and their stature afforded them ease when exuding command over others.
It was part of the reason she became enamoured with the Electronic Warfare division of the United Military—it was much easier to be sociable when whomever you spoke to was unaware of how easily you could break them. Alas, needing to receive all important orders directly by the most tamper-proof methods invariably meant that someone would need to speak with her face-to-face eventually, and thus, shake with desperation as they were mindful not to displease her. She was of the highest station, and of a terrifying size. The combination often led to such reactions, and she was terribly tired of it…
She missed her family dearly. As odd as they may be at times, they didn’t judge her for her form, but for the whimsical nature which was pressed down by the rank she held. Even when she tried to loosen up, others were cautious to accept it. That STO Leader seemed to understand her to a degree, but there was still too much of a power disparity for them to be more than a superior and her subordinate. Too many layers of stiff ceremony and inherent rights separated them.
The same rights and rigid structure that kept the messenger frozen before her, the poor thing unable to leave without permission, no matter how uncomfortable they felt. Protocol kept them fearing even the slightest deviation from procedure.
Before the Union arrived to spurn them, she had been in the same position as the crew member currently avoiding eye contact. She too delivered orders as if they were fragile crystals, held fearful respect for those above her, and dreamed of one sun being in such a station. Back then, there were commanders which one could relax with—no matter how little. A jest here, some casual conversation there... Within the closed doors of an office, the high ones you were subjected to could truly be people.
Yet now there were no people above you, and as one in charge of many, she learned that there were so few below as well.
Tools. The means to an end. The Hunt Mother’s loyal claws to bring bloodshed upon the ones who killed so many of her kits.
The soldiers at her behest were much, but she was not allowed to see them as people. She hated how lonely it became when both sides of a conversation were shackled by convention. She could not be weak, nor easy to approach for friendly banter. Neither could those who wished to address her do so openly. They must have reason—for even when she was on the brink of tearing out her own fur from monotony and boredom, her time was still much too valuable, and her displeasure still too great a threat.
“Thank you. You may leave,” she dismissed, putting in effort to seem as occupied with her tasks as they were forced to treat her. The soldier bid their farewells, the door hissing open and closed, leaving behind the orders she was hesitant to view, and an office devoid of company. She unmuted the video absently to fill the silence.
It was never this hard to bear before. She would laugh and joke, ignoring the polite laughs that outweighed the genuine ones. Rules would be bent or disregarded as long as she made a surface-level attempt to chastise others for going against them. It was all so easy to accept the scant smile and take what satisfaction she could.
But then she had to view those damned reports.
Warfare between Grand Hunters, hostile fauna, inhospitable weather, and the cursed Union having one of their ilk gathering support. She was furious.
Was.
Now, re-watching the interviews that Leader and Tech had performed with those under the male’s command...she wasn’t so sure. Those were not the scowls of people betrayed by their military, going rogue for revenge after years of strict doctrine crushed their sense of self. Those were not the wavering eyes and stiff tails of ones beaten into submission. No, those were the smiles and laughs of a happy pack.
Smiles and laughs that she remembered growing up around, and that she wished to return to her people by participating in the search for vengeance in the first place.
And yet, she found it here, in a video laden with such expressions and humorous remarks, followed by almost indignant frowns when the very concept of reintegration was broached. They still sought recompense for the worlds they lost, still carried the same snarl of abhorrence when the Union was mentioned, but they no longer held the visage of cornered beasts—ready to lash out and dismember all that approach, if not simply whimper and beg for mercy.
The video continued on a loop, mere fragments including the insects interacting with the pack on the planet’s surface. It showed just how close the separate species had become, the edge of the frame playing host to a Lilhun smiling and caring for what could only be a kit. An entire interview featured a white-furred female coddling one of the hexapods as if it were her own, bliss and fondness in her eyes.
Eyes that turned to those of the Void itself once it was suggested they be removed from their Grand Hunter.
‘The Guardian,’ as he was known. They claimed him an Essence—the very concept of protection personified. Both the loving embrace...and the inescapable slaughter.
Now there was more of his kind, bringing naught but proclamation of mending to their lost kinsmen and those he laid claim to.
So many complications.
Were it just the single male, she could have done as she always did; bend the rules and manipulate reports so that none would see punishment, yet the desired result would be achieved. She could have negotiated with him fairly—both due to his status, and the deeds he performed aiding her people—but with the additional numbers behind him, the equation became messy. No longer could she shirk her obligations for the preferable outcome. No longer could she utter ultimatums and stern words with a wink and a smile.
No. Now she must follow those very rules that bind her to feel so alone amongst her peers, and make decisions that she found vile and misguided. The high ones would watch her every move, and she could not return to see her family if she was locked away for treason.
One paw grabbed the disk while the other fetched the disconnected terminal, slotting one into the other and waiting for the older technology to parse the data. She prayed it would tell her to hold the meetings with the Grand Hunters—to work with them so that they may continue to smile as they did in the video, free of the very shackles which restricted her.
The dossier loaded, her claws swiftly providing her validations through multiple stages to gain access. As always, parts had been redacted—usually just things that would mean little to her anyway, but she was annoyed to have even the most benign items withheld. Well, mostly benign; there still existed direction and purpose behind some orders that even she was not privy to, despite being the one expected to execute them. Their goal for searching the many planets in a particular vector, for a start.
It seemed that being one of the Eight Claws was still not enough.
Her eyes scanned the document as she held her breath, allowing air to cycle through her lungs once permission for the gathering was clearly given in the text. She could speak with them! What’s more, she was given quite the freedom to meet their demands as well—assuming she didn’t blindly approve of anything unreasonable.
All that building elation just gave her heart further to fall when she reached the final set of orders. Words she checked again and again as they fought against her denial.
Compromised. Necessary sacrifice. Dispose.
And laughably, ‘it is regrettable.’
A mirthless smile crossed her muzzle as she felt the manacles of power force her paw. She couldn’t hope for the orders to be carried by a higher station, for there were none. She couldn’t hide by allowing a lower position to do it, because only one like her could make it so.
Rey’zel looked back to the terminal cycling through the video clips and images taken from the scout ship—from the purple-furred female who did outstanding work, while also obliterating any pretense of professionalism by spending more time playing games than half the crew of the Smokeless Hunt combined.
Pictures of the crew taken by her augments. Recordings of conversations between Tech and Leader, carefully noise isolated so the surprisingly personal discussion was flawlessly recreated. Even video logs from the security cameras were stored, Tech spending time teasing and provoking the dark green-furred male, while data suggested she was triple-checking his last physical to ensure he was healthy.
All that and more was pulled from the data banks that the military experiment organized and maintained, though none were as large as her files on Leader. It was like looking into her very thoughts—and due to her modifications, that could very well be true. It was a small wonder why the female seemed so distraught by the unauthorized pull.
And Rey’zel, First Claw of the United Military’s Smokeless Hunt, was forced to follow her orders. Her claw hesitated over the intercom, eventually allowing gravity to overcome the strength in her arm—a vain attempt to remove at least some of the guilt.
A stiff acknowledgement greeted her, but she wasn’t listening anymore.
“Set the warp-spike’s frequency to fifteen deviations above standard. Increase amplitude fourfold.” She choked back bile in her throat, taking solace in the small amount of power she had over the situation. She couldn’t stop the order, but she could buy just a little time.
She took a breath, thankful that they required a code before they could act on the command as she made an addition that wouldn’t matter to anyone. Anyone but one protective, stubborn, hot-tempered, and overly-casual female.
“Delay activation of described sequence by forty-thousand ticks. Confirmation code: eight-nine-eight-zero-zero.”
The intercom connection closed as she sunk back into her chair, drained and bitter. It was one thing to sacrifice yourself for your people—it was sometimes necessary to accept losses for the greater good—but this?
She let her breath out slowly, eyes moving to the interviews again. A large black-furred female spoke fondly of the alien that indirectly forced Rey’zel to order the demise of one of her own. All because the high ones feared what may come if Tech were to be captured—of what would fall into the paws of the unknown species, if not the Union. Several technologies had already been taken, and it had led to horrible outcomes already. They wished not to take chances.
The warp-spike would shift, and then the unknown ship would be grounded, while the UM’s systems would remain perfectly functional. They would have the peace of mind to hold the congressional on equal terms.
The sweep between the two frequencies, however?
Rey’zel watched the video idly, knowing that even if she did warn the female to make the most of the remaining time, all it would do is make her last moments full of regret. She couldn’t even thank Tech for her work. Couldn’t apologize for what she was ordained to do…
A black-furred male on the terminal smirked as he walked away to address a disagreement off-screen.
A single thought passed her mind as she drafted a packet and forwarded abridged orders to the scout crew planet-side, barely resisting the urge to warn them.
She missed her family.