They hadn’t been allowed to drink while carrying out their duties. There was no drink on the Pioneer (officially, though he suspected Joel had a supply of Ohirin brandy, the best in the galaxy, in his quarters), and Drypso had been so poorly resourced, it amazed him the warriors endured it.
“I’ll ask to leave imperial service and move on, I’ve decided.”
Blayze's face fell. “What will we do without you?”
Darren took large pulls of his drink. “You’ll manage. I know where you are and I’ll keep in touch.”
“Can you do that?” asked Lero.
“I can try.” He finished his ale, raising the glass and tipping his head up to drain the last drop.
Blayze was less accepting than Lero, who nodded as if it was a done deal.
“But what about our girls?” Blayze asked with an anguished look. He hadn’t touched his brew.
Darren was normally patient with Blayze, defending him when Lero was inclined to batter him with words, but the question made him want to shake the harsh reality of life into his little brother.
He locked eyes with Blayze. “They are not ours to keep, or claim. We’ve lost them— correction; they never were ours in the first place. They belong to High Command now.”
“The sooner you get that notion through your thick skull, the better,” added Lero, lifting his glass. Lero had about a third of his ale left.
“I’ll ask Crukugs tomorrow," Darren said with determination.
He did a Lero, sliding Blayze’s untouched glass over tohim, lining it up with his empty one. “Are you gonna drink that, little brother?”
Darren entered Crukug’s office. White lights from overhead glared off the metal desk and the lizard’s bronze scales, stabbing into Darren’s eyes like needles. He stood rigidly at attention. Chin up, he stared straight ahead, arms rigid, hands fisted at his sides. He was in full dress uniform, his sword at his side. He’d polished the blade until it gleamed, though it was sheathed at the moment.
Crukugs came out from his desk and prowled in front of him, tail sweeping the carpet in slow, deliberate arcs. His pupils were slits of black in molten gold.
“What do you want, Dheltan? I don’t have all day,” the lizard snapped.
“Thank you for granting me an audience, Commander,” said Darren. “Now that the females from Earth are safely back on Ohiri, I wish to be relieved of my duties and leave the service.”
An outraged silence followed Darren’s request, then Crukugs spoke. “You would turn your back on the empire in its hour of need? You would walk away? You would spit in the face of Ohirins; those that had given you a home when you had nowhere to go?” His silky tone implied insult, hurt, and offense.
It was almost a parody and Darren wasn’t intimidated. “I am truly grateful for everything the empire has done for me, and I will send a letter of thanks to the emperor himself. I will find other ways to serve.”
Crukugs eyed him. Darren’s dress uniform was off-white, nearer to bleached sandstone, the color the emperor had chosen for the services. He presented a warriorlike image, radiating strength, grace and honor. The shade suited his coloring, enriched his skin tone and enhanced his hair which was tamed in his usual bun, whereas Crukugs didn’t look good in anything; not with his tubular body and thick neck. His regular uniform was dull green and didn’t flatter his bronzescales.
Was the commander jealous of the displaced Dheltans, who didn’t have a planet they could call home?
“I’ll have to refer your request to my superiors,” Crukugs bit out.
“When may I expect a decision?”
Crukugs was prowling away, back turned, and he whipped round to face Darren.
“Don’t be insubordinate,” the lizard snarled, hot, fetid breath in the warrior’s face.
Darren didn't react; he knew better. That the Ohirins were reluctant to let the Dheltans go meant something. Dheltans were valuable in some way, or maybe the reluctance was due to the Ohirins needing every man they could get to defend the empire.
The commander straightened up and returned to his seat behind the desk. “Dismissed.”
Darren saluted and turned to go.
“Oh, Dheltan, bring the females to the parade ground where they will be reallocated. Ten hundred hours tomorrow.”
“Var’kai, Commander.”
