A gentle breeze blows through the field outside their temporary home carrying the scents of field and sea. Flowers sway in rows at the edges of the well-kept yard. Brightly colored flitters dance between blossoms.

  Moving through the physical forms helps to alleviate the long wait. That Yosip decides to join him in the exercise adds a bit of levity to his days. The stiff, mechanical limbs are unable to properly mimic Bruen's fluid movements, but the essence of the technique is looseness, and that Yosip is able to express to some measure.

  They move through the third rotation of this set when Bruen spots a pair of Pel approaching the detention grounds. He leads Yosip through to the end of the slow-motion attack form. The alien is showing decent progress in translating the technique to his own ungainly form. He needs much more practice, but the pathway is now open for him to follow.

  Grime and dust from the workout clings to the pair. Yosip, using a control rune hidden on the reverse side of a structural plate, activates a cleansing array. Thick mist rises up from the sand and swirls around them. They shake dirty droplets from their bodies.

  Another array stirs a warm, dry wind to remove excess moisture. As an added effect, they're left smelling like astringent chemicals. They are clean and ready to present themselves by the time their jailors reach them.

  "I ought to thank them," remarks Yosip. "This's been more relaxing than my last vacation."

  The alien chuckles to himself, but quiets when the Pel come within hearing distance down the path.

  One of the Pel wears the uniform of his caste. Charcoal colored zelsilk held in place by soft beige leather that emphasizes the pink splotches scattered across his head and body. The other dresses in full riot harness. Rune studded leather straps with gas cartridges, flash bangs, small explosives, and other peace keeping tools drape his outer uniform. An attached mask hides the enforcer's face.

  The harnesses each have a specific runic sequence, Bruen knows. Anyone not charged with the same sequence will find themselves unable to remove anything safely from them. He hopes his alien companion does not succumb to the temptation.

  "Please follow us," the uniformed Pel states. Without waiting for acknowledgement, the enforcers turn and glide back down the path.

  Bruen follows without hesitation, already familiar with the etiquette. Yosip is not but catches up quickly, an aggressive scowl across his gray face.

  The Duv estate is far grander than the one Bruen owns. Larger, farther from the city, more open, and vastly more impressive. Defensive arrays built into the stone architecture allow its owner a degree of safety unmatched by an equally sized fortress.

  They pass tall trees with long shrouds of hanging moss that act as privacy walls for the open air estate. Flowers of every color greet them with fanciful patterns and pleasing scents. Servants of various castes scurry from place to place, careful to avoid coming too close to the prisoners or their escorts. Statues and artwork, idols stolen from hundreds of worlds, the wealth of an empire without borders decorates paved sections under the protection of preservative arrays.

  The Pel lead them to a yard of fine gravel. The polished black rocks absorb the gentle warmth from above and release it into Bruen's tentacles. The sensation is comforting in a way that makes Bruen nervous. The best meat comes from a happy beast, after all. Why else would Bruen and his companion be treated so well if not because the Duv seeks to gain from the encounter?

  In the center of the expanse of expensive ebon stones Bruen sees a pavilion of white zelsilk. A Pel in full harness stands beside a familiar face. Mos Gol clutches a spear in her lower tendrils on the other side of the entrance flap from the enforcer.

  "Greetings, Mos Bruen," she says politely. "Still keeping strange companions, I see. This one is much more handsome than the last, at least."

  Yosip's face darkens at the elder's words. To prevent an unseemly display, Bruen casually lays one upper tendril upon the alien's prosthetic arm before he can raise it threateningly.

  "He reminds me of you, Mos Gol," returns the younger general.

  Hearing the name of the elder before them, the skin around the glass and metal implants in the creature's face stretch tight. Is this another aggression display, like when he points at that which he will destroy next? No, Bruen decides. Yosip's breathing takes on a more casual rhythm. The display is likely one of respect to an honored stranger.

  As large as he remembers her, the elder lifts her lower tendrils in a display of mock defense to cover her composite plate armored carapace. "Then he must be the smarter of the two of you," she muses, lowering them. Her voice wheezes slightly more than Bruen remembers. "Unless he's another of your tutors?"

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "Just the opposite," interrupts Yosip. "Old Bruen here's been teaching me his fancy moves. Nothing better to do, anyway," he finishes, raising his servo powered shoulders in a display of strength and unsuspected mobility.

  Her gesture of defense is without ulterior intent this time, though she otherwise remains in a relaxed posture. "We've left them waiting long enough, I think," states Gol. An edge of fear or respect colors her movements as she shifts aside. "Go on inside, Bruen."

  The Pel likewise moves to allow Yosip to pass freely, pulling aside the flap in his upper tendrils. Inside is a single member of Yosip's odd race. The female is noticeably smaller than he and completely without implants or prosthetics. The command uniform she wears does not match the oversized pack she bears upon her back.

  "Greetings, Ship-Mother Eva Chel," Bruen says politely.

  "They got you, too?" Yosip crosses his arms over his chest. The reinforced alloy would make a fine defense, but it seems unwarranted to Bruen. "Figures."

  "Hello, Yosip, Mos Bruen," replies the fragile seeming officer with a smile. "When do we meet the Duv?"

  "Not until they're ready for us," an artfully synthesized voice says from behind her. Bruen looks but sees no others in the pavilion.

  "Greetings, Mos Denn," intones Bruen carefully.

  "And to you, Mos Bruen, Don Yosip."

  The highly augmented Don snorts in response. As eloquent a greeting as any, reflects Bruen.

  "To answer your question," explains Bruen, "we should expect to be left waiting for some time yet."

  "Yes," agrees the artificial voice. "The Duv is probably waiting for his Pel to tell him whether we're a threat or not. Then they'll arrive, once they feel they're safe."

  "I haven't seen the inquisition squad," Bruen comments. "They must be somewhere. It would be foolish to leave us completely unguarded."

  "They're nearby," declares the Ship-Mother. "Denn was describing their condition to me." Her eyes dart up quickly before returning to looking at Yosip before she shakes her head.

  Yosip nods, eyes aiming over the other's shoulder.

  Seeing all of this, Bruen pays more attention to the device. It is an ugly thing, and ungainly. A red light flashes upon it in an irregular pattern. Prongs and antennae rise from the top of it as well as at least three camera lenses that Bruen can see from this angle. Each visible surface of the device also appears to function as a door or hinge. Only a few basic runes are visible on the contraption.

  This mechanical pack exists only to allow Mos Denn to communicate with those within its range, supposedly. Knowing the one who raised him, Bruen suspects hidden functionality but cannot hazard a guess as to what form it could take. Defenses, surely, or it would not need to be so large.

  His prosthetic eye can only see a searing orange light shining from within the device. He knows this to be Denn's monstrous form.

  "I saw your corpse," blurts Bruen. He pulls all his tendrils close to himself, aghast at his own words.

  Both of the gray aliens turn to stare at him. Yosip's jaw hangs open.

  The silence stretches on and causes Bruen to squirm in discomfort and twist his tendrils. The shame is intense.

  "Bruen, listen," Eva begins in a whisper, stretching her short arms out to him, but a soft artificial voice speaks over her.

  "I'm sorry for leaving you like that. You could have been blamed for the murder. But I could do nothing."

  The voice sounds bitter, tired despite being fully synthetic. Different than any time he can recall. Always proud, sometimes angry but never apologetic. Mos Denn might offer words of reconciliation. He can even admit fault. But this?

  In the many years of service to him, Bruen knows no time when Mos Denn would apologize so sincerely for something he did not do. The experience is shocking.

  "Sir, I-" Bruen finds himself halting. A pheromone rich scent hits the sensitive tissues of his upper tendrils.

  Bruen lowers himself onto the smooth, black pebbles. Whether following his example or for their own reasons, the two aliens also lower themselves into prone positions. All movement ceases within the wide pavilion except for the rapid opening and closing of the smaller alien's eyes. Bruen worries briefly that there might be some irritant wafting around, but those worries quickly sink beneath a sea of worshipful awe.

  White zelsilk curtains flutter on the opposite side of the obvious entrance. A large, white form enters. Colorless tentacles stand out starkly against the black ground, slithering forward to support the massive albino bulk of the Duv. He towers twice the height of Bruen and glistens majestically.

  Bright, glorious blue eyes gaze across the pavilion. Bruen quivers under the weight of the Duv's presence. Breathing becomes difficult.

  The cloth walls of the tall tent, white as clean salt, white as the Duv before him, swirl in his mind to become part of the commanding creature. Bruen waits in silence for the Duv to settle himself. Pebbles clatter softly under the enormous weight.

  "Tell me of these creatures," commands the Duv.

  "The Selber are a merchant race," declares Bruen eagerly. "They battle among themselves for the right to trade with different worlds and against others to defend the worlds they choose to settle. We would be strengthened if we engage in cooperative partnership with the Selberfeld Imperium."

  Colorless mouth parts grind against each other. "And do you two agree with his assessment of your race?"

  "Piss off," declares Yosip.

  Bruen and the other alien both strike him on reflex. Neither hit seems to bother him overmuch. The heavy aroma filling the pavilion makes it increasingly hard for Bruen to think.

  The Duv gestures with one massive tendril for the smaller alien to speak.

  "We're explorers and scientists," she declares. "As well as merchants and warriors. But I think that both our peoples could gain a lot from working together. Yeah."

  "And what is your opinion on the artifact you bear on your back?" The thunderous voice of the Duv causes the two aliens' tall crests of dark hair to wave as he utters his question.

  "He," she emphasizes the word, "is a valuable member of my staff." She stands up tall and looks up at the Duv before she declares, "And I'm not letting you take him from me."

  Yosip moves to stand beside her, a fierce scowl upon his face.

  "Stand, Mos," snaps the Duv. "Defend me."

  Bruen leaps upright and slides in front of the Duv, facing the two aliens.

  "What would you do to stop me? If I ordered this Mos to take it from you?"

  The gray beings tense before him, Bruen readies himself for whatever the Duv commands next.