Page 10 of Clan and Command

Only one other man had offered as many revelations, and Kila was betting he had plenty more in store for him. He checked the chronometer. He should be getting ready for his dinner with Piras. Instead, he switched to the file he had on the admiral.

It was the official file, the one that told little of the real story. A brilliant career, first as a captain and then as an admiral. Piras’s temper and propensity to unleash it on those who didn’t toe the line was legendary. Though he’d been on board Kila’s destroyer during the devastating attack on Earth, Piras had been given little opportunity to show that side of himself. Kila’s crew was too well trained, too disciplined to offer the unforgiving admiral any ammo to fire. Piras would have lit into them too…the man was all Dramok. A fierce leader, one who never faltered when he had his sights on the prize. Seeing those qualities had excited Kila. It had made him want to get close to the elegantly proportioned man.

Yet when Kila had finally enticed Piras into bed, after a long and frustrating period that would have warned off someone less determined, the result was not what Kila had expected. The strong-jawed Dramok, the severe superior who’d seemed the personification of determination and drive, had disappeared. He’d not fought Kila for dominance. Had not commanded his submission. Piras had instead surrendered himself to Kila, handing the Nobek all control.

Had it been Piras’s way of deflating Kila’s interest in him? It seemed the most likely answer, except it matched nothing about the character of the man who fascinated Kila. Piras didn’t waste time or spare feelings when he wanted someone to fuck off. He shouted it loud and clear.

Piras had wanted sex with Kila. He must have. Yet the manner of sex they’d had made no sense. Piras was a Dramok. Dramoks were driven to be in control, all the damned time.

Kila hadn’t had time to figure the matter out. There had been no time to demand an explanation, because by the time he’d gotten Piras in his clutches, gotten over the shock of being given command over the admiral, and finished them both to enthralling climax, he’d had to hoof it back to his destroyer to depart on his latest assignment. And he’d been late, much to the disapproval of his first officer and Mostar.

Tonight would be Kila’s first chance to solve one of the mysteries of Dramok Piras and to ease the overwhelming need to figure him out.

Chapter 4

Piras had set dinner out on the balcony of his home, high in the branches of a giant ribaw tree. The setting was especially nice on a summer night, when the air had cooled and the sky sparkled with stars through the canopy of sapphire leaves. A few glowballs, installed along the balcony railing, provided low, intimate lighting.

Not that Piras was trying to set the scene for romance. Ancestors, no. He’d burned that bridge well and truly with Kila. He simply liked being out on the balcony. That was the only reason he’d chosen it for their dinner.

He was sure the meal was good, though he picked at his ronka steak. Kila’s rate of eating told him he approved. Of course, maybe the Nobek wasn’t used to such fare. In Piras’s days of spacefaring, a decent cut of meat was as rare as the bloody slab Kila shoveled into his face. The captain drank with as much passion as he ate, swallowing glass after glass of the first-rate bohut he’d brought.

Piras nibbled at his steak, which was a good deal less rare than Kila’s. Most of the dread he felt had little to do with the coming discussion of the offered mission. He feared…and also hoped…Kila would bring up their last meeting.

So far the Nobek captain had offered nothing more than pleasantries and humorous observations about his new chief engineer. From what Kila had told him, Piras thought he’d have his hands full of the dual-breed Lokmi.

He wondered how much of Lokmi’s Dramok side Kila had seen. If he’d compared the engineer to Piras. A throb of disquiet threaded its way through his guts. He scowled at his half-eaten steak and pushed it away.

Almost simultaneously, Kila pushed his plate away too, though it had nothing left on it. When Kila eyed Piras’s leftovers, the Dramok chuffed a laugh and pushed it to him. Kila happily consumed it, though it wasn’t as raw as he professed to prefer it.

At last, the anxious moment arrived. Kila sat back on his cushion and rubbed his belly with a contented sigh. He looked over Piras, sizing him up. The Dramok tensed.

“This mission. Only a few will know about it,” Kila said.

Piras relaxed. “From what I can tell, Fleet Admiral Hobato and Admiral Tranis may be the entirety of High Command who are aware of it.” He frowned. “Hobato must be worried about treason to keep such a scheme to himself.”

“I think someone from the Imperial Clan might be conscious of our mission too. Most likely Emperor Bevau.” Kila grimaced. “Not that it matters. If we get caught by our own people, no one will vouch for us.”

“That’s usually the way of assignments deemed as a high risk to the Empire’s leaders.”

“If we do this right, you’re going to be an unpopular man. To most, you will be a traitor, someone to kill on sight.” Kila’s usual smirk was nowhere in evidence as he stared at his senior officer.

Piras answered in his driest tone. “I have a number of people who feel that way without me turning on the Empire.”

Kila lightened up at that sally, snickering. “You do have a reputation for pissing underlings off. Your ability to command can’t be denied, and those who don’t measure up to your standards have paid dearly for it. That demand for excellence is the stuff of legend.”

His gaze rested on Piras, the attitude evaluating. The Dramok wondered if Kila compared the man he was on a ship’s bridge to the man he became in the sleeping room.

He hurried to keep the conversation on point. “Do you have the target that I’m to betray and win me a spot in the Basma’s heart?”

“The choice of victims is up to you.” At Piras’s confusion, Kila grimaced. “This isn’t pretend, Piras. You have to go traitor in everything but your heart. This will be for real.”

A sick feeling wormed its way into Piras’s gut. He didn’t like what he was hearing. What he must be misunderstanding. “I’m not getting you, Captain. Spell it out in the small words you know best.”

Kila didn’t react to the insult. “The Basma is exceedingly careful about those he can’t blackmail into helping him. If he can’t hold you hostage through past misdeeds, then he must be absolutely sure of your desire for a pure Kalquor. That means immersing yourself in being the best turncoat you can be.”

The queasy feeling strengthened, turning into outright nausea. “I’m to defect. All the way. You want me to give Maf the means to take out an actual target.”

“You will feed me, the Basma’s somewhat trusted spy, information about a colony or military installation that will benefit his forces in some way. You must give me its weaknesses and strengths in preparation for the revolt to attack it. It has to be a real target, Piras. Something the Basma will want to have.”

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