Page 85 of Veiled Vixen

What could these men possibly think they would accomplish here? Did they think they would somehow talk Mighty Boss into interfering with Harem Station?

The Boss had admitted that they had not been aware of Tray’s presence on the station and with the exception of some higher-level Minion Ambassadors, everyone still assumed ALCOR was dead. So they were not coming here for him.

Just those boys.

Well, that was not surprising to ALCOR. Wayward Station was the birthplace of all his boys. And all his boys were bred for their violet eyes and breeding back to Cygnian princesses.

They wanted to make an Angel.

This was not a new idea for ALCOR. He’d known that was what they were trying to do. But it gave him chills up his inorganic spine all the same.

What would they do with that Angel? They would need two to really make a go of things. That would require inbreeding, which would ruin their chances in just two generations.

But it had been twenty-one years since the boys had left.

So what were they really up to over on Wayward Station? And how close were they to achieving their goals?

He spent several hours pondering that. Coming up with scenarios. Wondering if he should give himself away during this meeting. Tell them who he was.

But in this body? Forget it. He was practically a man in this body.

Boss had cautioned him to keep his mouth shut for the meeting, and ALCOR would take that advice. Better to collect information and let them leave before taking any action.

“Mr. ALCOR,” his internal comms squeaked.

“Yes.”

“The Wayward Station ship is docking on the executive level. Mr. Boss would like you to meet him in the grand ballroom immediately. Do you need a map to find your way?”

“No, I have it. Thanks. Tell him I’ll be right up.”

The comms went quiet and ALCOR stood up and left his quarters, suddenly nervous to meet these people. These men who had raised his boys into their teens. And he realized, as he took the stairs up to the executive level, that he had a lot to say to them.

ALCOR arrived in the ballroom before the Akeelians.

In fact, aside from several dozen other warborgs who looked very much like himself, and several cheery ambassadors, he was the only one there.

One of the ambassadors signaled him and pointed to an empty spot in the line-up of warborgs at the very front of the room, just to the right of Boss’s throne, indicating he should stand there.

He got into position and just as he settled into at-ease stance, the large double doors opened, a horn-type instrument blared an arrival, and a purple carpet quickly unfolded down the center of the room as a man appeared.

He was wearing a black uniform with red accents. Black trousers, black double-breasted jacket with a very high collar and military buttons that looked like ruby coins. There was also a red sash with dark gray tassels and on his feet were highly-polished knee-high boots.

And on his head was a… crown.

Since when did the Akeelians follow a monarchy?

ALCOR knew he should not be looking straight at the—King of Wayward Station? He was here as a warborg. But he caught a glimpse of the man’s bright blue eyes and couldn’t stop himself from staring.

His hair was silver and his face clean-shaven. He was still young for an Akeelian. Their average lifespan was one hundred and seventy years. But this man was probably closer to sixty or seventy years old. Not quite middle-aged.

He didn’t catch ALCOR’s indiscretion and looked straight ahead as he marched up the long carpet and stopped at the front of the room, mere meters from where ALCOR stood.

For the first time ever, ALCOR wondered if he should’ve paid more attention to these people over the past two decades.

Behind him came a whole group of similarly dressed men and they lined up according to rank.

ALCOR studied them all. This king was Crux’s father. And those men behind him… they might be the fathers of his other boys.