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“Jakar Keran, there is an urgent message for you,” Joron said, extending a holocard to me.
I accepted it, waving two fingers over the interface to display the message. Dawn Merrick… It took me a second to remember who she was. I quickly scanned the brief note before cursing under my breath.
“Unpleasant news?” my father asked with a sympathetic look laced with a bit of mockery. He was enjoying unloading more and more of the aggravating chores linked with ruling a barbaric planet such as ours.
“It’s a message from Haven,” I said with a disgusted expression. “It appears hybrid refugees are being hunted again.”
“Son of a krillik!” my father hissed. “Are they so desperate to murder and bully innocents that they travel all the way there for that?”
“Apparently,” I told him before turning to Joron. “You can tell her the answer is yes,” I said while handing the card back to him.
“Yes, Jakar,” he replied, slightly bowing his head before leaving the box.
With my ascension barely three months away, the last thing I needed was to go off planet to deal with this kind of mess.
Chapter 2
Dawn
Isat stoically before the Council, silently seething with a burning rage. Sitting at a long, semi-circular table on an elevated dais, they towered over me with false sympathy. Despite coming here with low expectations, their casual dismissal of our plight never ceased to infuriate me.
The Twelve was the formal Council of Haven, a safe planet in the Eastern Quadrant where people of any species fleeing persecution could find shelter. Each member of the council belonged to an advanced species from a wealthy planet member of the Galactic Council. Their homeworlds funded the charitable efforts on Haven and protected its citizens as well.
Or at least to the extent it suited them.
Some of the refugee species benefited from far more support than others, especially cute ones like the Pelurians. Small in stature, peaceful, mostly vegetarian, with strong religious culture that forbade them from raising arms against anyone, even when their home world was being invaded, the Pelurians had automatically become the galactic sweethearts. Forced to flee their home, they had received an insane outpouring of support, financial and otherwise. Corporations had fully funded the construction of a new village entirely dedicated to them on Haven. Farming conglomerates had provided them with the help and resources to grow vegetables compatible with Haven’s ecosystem closely related to the diet they enjoyed on their original world.
Politicians and celebrities alike made it a point to publicize any contribution they made to the plight of the Pelurians. It wasn’t so much out of the goodness of their hearts as much as the great public relations returns they got from it.
Then you had species like the Braxian hybrids I was here to represent. Braxians were many things, but definitely not cute. While the females were generally taller, bigger, and stronger than those from most other species, the males were the true issue. They were giants with muscles for days, intimidating, with brutish features, and a propensity for violent and belligerent behavior. Naturally, that had not endeared them to the galactic community. Sponsoring efforts to give them a safer and better life wouldn’t win anyone any popularity contest, quite the opposite.
My flock didn’t break any laws. They simply never learned to endear themselves to the people who could have helped ensure a better future for every hybrid refugee. Most of them had managed to escape Braxia at various stages of their lives, but many had landed here after their mothers—usually human—had left them here right after their births.
Taking a deep breath to control the anger I feared would seep into my voice, I leveled what I hoped to be a non confrontational gaze on Callan, the Dantorian head of the Council. As all the members of his species, he was rather attractive with his bluish-black skin and long, raven hair. His silver eyes shone almost like beacons in his dark face where even the sclera had a somber hue.
“I understand perfectly the point you’re trying to make, Callan,” I said in a reasonable tone. “However, we’re talking about people dying right now. That’s the sixth death in as many weeks. One or two would be an unfortunate coincidence. This is an undeniable pattern, especially considering the bodies found bear similar types of abuse and desecration. We need a proper team dedicated to investigating these murders and tracking down the culprit before more blood is shed. Three other hybrids are currently missing, and I fear the next time we see them it will be to put them in a body bag.”
“Your concerns are extremely valid, Dawn. You may not believe it right now, but we share your worries, and our hearts bleed for these poor males. Unfortunately, you know we do not possess the staff or resources to run this type of a manhunt,” Callan said in an infuriatingly, almost patronizingly, reasonable voice.
“True, but you could ask the planet members of the alliance to send extra patrols,” I argued. “They did it before when we had a rash of raids on the granaries.”
Callan gave me a don’t-be-absurd look that infuriated me further. “This was a planet-wide issue that affected every resident of Haven. We cannot ask the Galactic Council to incur such steep expenses for only a handful—”
“For a handful of what, Councilor?” I asked in a clipped tone, making no effort this time to hide my anger and underlying contempt. “A handful of dead Braxian half breeds is an acceptable loss not worth opening the coffers of the administration of the planet sworn to protectallof those who seek refuge on its soil?”
“Do not put such vile words or intentions in my mouth,” Callan replied in a much harsher tone, offended mutterings from the other members of the Twelve echoing his sentiment. “While those deaths are indeed unfortunate, there are far less costly remedies that could be used in the short term while our local peacekeeping forces investigate to the best of their abilities with the resources available.”
Swallowing back a snide remark—knowing that alienating them further would not help our cause—I gave him a stiff nod, which I knew he’d interpret as an apology and an admission I had spoken out of turn, though it could be nothing further from the truth.
Apparently mollified, Callan rolled his shoulders, releasing some tension. His face took on once more that obnoxious understanding and paternal expression.
“There isn’t sufficient evidence that the three missing hybrids have been abducted or murdered. For all we know, they could be passed out somewhere in a drunken stupor, or they accepted some off planet offer and didn’t bother to inform you of this change in their status. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
With each of these words, I clenched my teeth a little more. Every time I sought their support for the Braxian shelter, they would always use the extreme incidents from one or two of our more problematic members and generalize it to the rest of the group to justify their refusal to assist.
“You always bring this up, but how many times has this actually happened? Once is not a pattern. But three disappearances back-to-back, after six murders, nowthat’sa pattern,” I countered.
He waved a dismissive hand. “Either way, there’s still not enough evidence to justify a large-scale intervention. If the hybrids are being hunted, there’s a very simple solution. Each of them live scattered in isolated areas, making them easy targets. They should return to the compound that had been given to them or move into the various cities so any potential serial killer will think twice about stalking them there.”
