Page 27 of Dreikx

Tamey, a princess who is used to servants, is giving him a…a grocery list in exchange for the right to publish her picture in the newspaper. “In the newspaper, Tamey?!” I bellow.

“He said I’ll get a modeling deal,” she screams from upstairs. “What’s wrong with that? I’ve seen my brother on the covers of the…the magazines. They’re stacked in your library. Why would I miss out on that? The people of Regha paint images of me. You sculpted me. I’m beautiful, and humans are welcome to look.”

I shut the feed and climb back upstairs.

The door is closed.

Politely, I knock.

“Go away,” she says. “My heat is not upon me yet. I can’t receive you.”

Is she mocking me? “Tamey, open the door this instant.”

“No.”

“House, open the door.”

“Negative, sir. The door is jammed.”

“Tamey.” I knock again. “I’m mighty upset.”

“Good for you. You need it.”

“Do not.”

“Do too!”

My com pings. “What?” I bark.

Silence on the other end.

“Dreikx speaking,” I correct my attitude. The ping of intercepted communication comes again, and I know Mike is listening. I have not even warned my crew that Mike has intercepted my private lines. I must clear my head. With that in mind, I descend the steps, heading out as if to leave, but turn back and sit on the couch overlooking the Pacific.

“This is the king of Earth speaking,” a Regha male says from the other line.

The helicopter guy promised Tamey he would return with a framed image of her for her own keeping. I will greet him. Murderous thoughts swirl in my head.

“In light of the news of my son’s death, I formally declare war on the Hordesmen and all their allies.”

The helicopter approaches, and from a distance, I latch on to the human’s mind. He’s thinking about how he’s gonna land on my lawn and walk into my house and how Tamey will receive him. I note the characteristics of a developing obsession. He’s never seen anyone more beautiful than her. “I agree,” I say and send this thought to his head.

“I have a proposition for you,” the Regha male says in my ear.

In the helicopter, the man puts down his camera.

“Air traffic here is forbidden,” I say in his head. “This is my territory. Leave now or die.”

He frowns but ignores my voice. It is simply too difficult to believe in telepathy, though it is absolutely possible for a human brain to develop it if they only bothered with self-improvement and not life improvement such as technology. Teleans first self-improved, then life improved. A big difference.

The man, whose name is Donald, taps the pilot on the shoulder and points at my lawn.

I remain sitting, hands fisted at my sides as I attempt to rein in my rage and a feeling I recognize as jealousy. The helicopter approaches, and the man reaches behind him and pulls out a bundle of flowers. Red roses wrapped in white paper that matches Tamey’s dress. This man has come to die. So be it. “House, intruder protocol.”

Energy pulses from the dome around the house. It cuts the chopper in half. The front half crashes down the mountain, the back half lands on my lawn, blades spinning, sending debris everywhere. Soft footsteps pad down the stairs, and Tamey appears in the living room. She looks from me to the chopper and the man inside trying to get out.

She opens her mouth, but I cut her off with a raised hand. “Quiet, Omega.”

Tamey obeys and steps closer to the windows.

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