Page 93 of Stripped By the Alien

I do need some air soon, but the Inquisitor appears to be more affected by the vacuum than me.

“I like it out here,” I signal. “See how clearly the stars shine! Have you been to many worlds, Inquisitor?”

“I have unfortunately been cooped up in the Nest for too long,” he signs. “The Queen required me nearby at all times.”

“When did she decide to retire?” I ask, turning to look at the stars.

“Some time ago,” he replies, starting to look strained from the lack of air. “She wanted the succession to be orderly, and she wants everything to be settled. The new Queen, the new Royal Mate and so on.”

“She always had the wellbeing of the Brood as her guiding star,” I reply slowly. “She’s rightly the most beloved Queen in all the lore of the Brood.”

“Yes. Now I need to breathe air,” the Inquisitor signals and hurries to get through the airlock that consists of the Beast’s muscles.

I grin and follow him inside after a suitable pause to demonstrate my superior space ability.

Inside, I struggle to not gasp for air - I was also at the end of my tolerance.

“I see now… that the Queen’s… appointing you a Chief Harrower… was a good decision,” the Inquisitor pants, back inside the small observation cupola that has some thin membrane windows. “Surely you must have the greatest… space tolerance of anyone from our Brood.”

“I had a lot of practice as a Harrower,” I tell him, leaning on the wall and hoping it looks nonchalant, although it’s because I was starting to get dizzy. “I spend my time in space, furthering the cause and the reach and the terror of our Brood.”

“And a fine job you do,” he admits. “And yet, your alien doesn’t seem to sense any of the terror she should.”

I frown, pretending to misunderstand. “My alien? Sris, you mean? She’s only an assistant. Much like your Deeg.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I don’t mean your helper, no. I mean Nora. The alien female you brought to the Queen’s chamber.”

“Oh, her. She’s entertaining, a fun diversion. If you have never been in space before, Inquisitor, you have no idea how boring it can get out here. I saw Nora navigate through a bad minefield, and when her ship was blown up I took her onboard, seeing as she could be a valuable clue to the location of a rich target. As it turned out, her planet is worthless. And then I kept her with me as a fun little thing to show to the Queen in her boredom. She may seem like a pet to you, and I suppose I think of her a bit like that. We’re Thyrr of the Brood, and it is our right to take and use anything we want from other species and from other Broods. Nora comes from a species that's powerless - they are not enemies nor a competing Brood. So I use her while she amuses me. And then… well, who knows.”

I’m pretty sure that won’t put him off the trail, but I have to try.

“Who indeed,” he says pensively, touching the transparent membrane with one hand. “It’s just that the Queen is deeply concerned about the lightning that was reported. She calls it 'the thunderstorms', meaning the electric discharges that are seen between you and the alien. She knows about it and she would have pressed you much harder about it in her chamber, but she wished to cause you no embarrassment in front of the others there. So it falls to me. Do you experience small bolts of lightning between yourself and Nora?”

“Sometimes,” I admit. “Static discharge from her clothing, no doubt. Well, you saw the silly tape I had to encase her in so she wouldn’t hurt herself on every sharp edge around.”

“Yes, I wondered if that was her own attire. The queen was sure it wasn’t. But the lightning, Chief Harrower. It’s my opinion - and that of the Queen - that it’s not static electricity. Her Majesty thinks that you’re Marankz with this Nora.”

That was just about what I was afraid he might say.

I pretend to freeze, and then I turn slowly to face him. “Marankz? That old nonsense from the ancient myths?”

“Not as ancient as you may think,” the Inquisitor says. “The Queen herself has seen it. Not in her Brood, but another. A long time ago, certainly. But it’s real enough. Every few centuries it happens. A handful of males become obsessed with outsiders. They abandon stations. Defy Queens. Ignore duty."

“Are you suggesting…” I growl.

The Inquisitor goes on without pause. "The Brood fractures. There are fights. Duels. Civil conflict. Then, a generation later, the offspring of those unions become some of the strongest bloodlines in the Brood. Our Queen suspects that this has started and that you and Nora are the first. This is distressing her a great deal, just when she is about to leave the throne."

“Fated Mates,” I snort. “Couples predetermined by some mythical prophets eons ago. Eternal love that goes across species and brings new blood into the Brood. Yes, I know the myths. Surely the Queen doesn’t believe a word of it?”

“It’s not a matter of belief,” the Inquisitor snaps. “It’s a matter of record.”

I stare out at the stars without seeing them. This is exactly what I feared, what I suspected. The lightning is the surest sign that Nora and I are Marankz. And it would explain everything. But I can’t imagine a worse thing happening! My entire future with the Brood may be ruined.

Marankz. If the Queen believes it, then it's no longer a myth I can dismiss. It's a diagnosis. And the treatment, as far as the Brood is concerned, has always been the same: separation, ideally by death.

“Changing topics,” the Inquisitor says, “I was allowed to see the next Queen. She’s just out of the pupa, young and fresh. She’s incredibly beautiful, and the nursery staff say she’s the most active and intelligent female they’ve ever had there. She’s already predicted to be one of the great Queens, perhaps almost on the level of our beloved Szum-zic.”

“Assuring a great future for our Brood,” I reply dutifully.