Page 3 of Sublime Target

Together, they were more powerful than he’d ever realized.

“Have your thoughts slipped into a black hole, Commander?” A familiar figure entered the room. It was Mavrel, one of the techs that worked between Earth, Silence, and the Fleet Station. Currently, they were on the Fleet Station, where Jerik was overseeing the Blade Master trials and auditing the weapons stores.

He sipped his coffee as he regarded Mavrel. The tech was tall and slender, with aristocratic, angular features and tousled hair. Almost effeminate, but not at all. Actually, his pretty appearance was deceptive. Jerik had worked with Mavrel on many occasions, and he knew that the tech possessed a sharp mind. He worked hard and was relentless in pursuing solutions.

“What makes you think that?” Jerik set the cup down and turned his chair. “I’m not thinking of warfare and doom if that’s what you’re saying.”

“I didn’t say any such thing. It’s just that your expression was deathly serious for a moment there, Sir.”

“You don’t have to Sir me anymore. We’re free agents now.”

“I’m just used to it. Makes me feel more comfortable, so unless you object, I’ll keep on calling you Sir for the foreseeable future.”

“Tch. If you insist. But you should know that I’m getting antsy over here. That’s what my thoughts were about. So get to the point and show me the list.”

“The list…” Mavrel’s expression was as dry as atmospheric dust as he sat himself in front of the holo-console. “Well, I do have a list of humans that would be suitably matched to your biological signature. As in, an encounter with any one of them would be enough to trigger your mating fever. Hmm, where to start? What are you looking for in a female, Sir? It might help me narrow it down if you provide me with a set of criteria. Do you have a preference for a certain phenotype? A certain temperament? Age? We can filter by occupation or personality. Likes and dislikes.” He let out a soft snort. “Humans really do collect a lot of data on their people. They’re nearly as bad as the old empire was.”

Jerik gulped down his coffee and carefully masked the fact that his heart was beating faster than usual. He, who was normally in control—who was used to rushing in and taking charge—for the first time in a very long time, he felt out of his depth.

“I don’t have a type,” he growled. It wasn’t as if he spent his idle sivs ogling random human females and picking out the ones that were attractive to him. He didn’t have time for that, and Jerik knew very well that appearances could be deceiving. Shallow. Sentient beings were complicated. All he wanted was a willing and eager female who would be content to receive his affection and return it.

A good character. That was what was important to him. Honest, not fearful of Kordolians, and not malicious or duplicitous.

Someone who would put up with an irascible rogue like him. Who had the ability to see through beyond the fact that he was Kordolian.

How in the Nine Hells was he supposed to find someone like that?

How had those First Division bastards—the most lethal and feared unit in the entire galaxy—managed to secure their mates so quickly and effortlessly?

And to add to Jerik’s astonishment, they weren’t vicious war queens or brutal killers. The human females that had brought each of the First Division warriors to their knees were, by human standards, ordinary.

And that made them extraordinary.

For they could now count themselves among the most powerful beings in the Universe because they had the singular ability to influence the course of a First Division warrior’s intentions.

“Mavrel,” he said slowly, placing the cup on the table in front of him with military precision. “Here are my criteria. She must be unmated. If she is to get to know me, then she should probably be resilient as well, and possess some sort of capacity to accept a Kordolian as a partner. Some humans can’t, you know. They can be inflexible, too. Then, there are the obvious things. Of breeding age. Desiring to have children. That is all.”

“Th-that is all?” Mavrel’s tone was uneasy.

Jerik shrugged. “You gotta trust the process.”

The First Division guys were more extreme than him, and they’d secured mates, so what was stopping him?

“Just a thought,” the tech said quietly. “What happens if… you meet her, and she triggers your mating fever, and then… you decide that you can’t stand one another?”

“I’ll figure that out if and when it happens. There’s always the drugs, and… I’d just have to try and find someone else. But I’m not worried about it. You always overthink things, Mav. I’ve given you my criteria, so give me a name and a location. Just one.”

On this occasion, Jerik was more than willing to entrust his fate to chance. He’d done that before, all the infernal time, and it had always seemed to work out.

What else could he do?

“Er, sure.” Mavrel gave him an uncertain look and turned to rapidly input data into the Sylth. He wore those weird little finger-nodes that helped him mesh with and spatially control the machine. Some Kordolians were better at engaging with the Sylth than others. Mavrel was one of those.

Jerik, on the other hand, was not a tech guy. He understood the principles well enough—he was in command, after all—but he didn’t like engaging with the sentient AI.

If he was honest, dealing with a replicant of some ancient slave’s entire consciousness gave him the creeps. He was much more comfortable around solid, physical things that couldn’t talk back. Like his blades, for example.

Mavrel looked up from the glowing blue holo-display. “You want a potential candidate? I’ve found one.” He cycled through a mass of information and brought up a holo-recording. “We obtained this information from the Federation, including this biodata recording.”

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