The Morcai Battalion: The Pursuit

“That isn’t what they say,” his companion replied, tongue in cheek. “Wasn’t there something about you and a flagon of synthale in a bar somewhere on Kurkason...?”

Mekashe cleared his throat. “That was a long time ago. During an unfortunate hunt that ended out on the rim. I was younger.”

“Ah. That would explain it. A few broken bones, a diplomatic incident—the emperor had to intervene with the local authorities...?”

Mekashe almost blushed.

Hahnson grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist it. You guys are so formidable that it tickles us humans when you slip, even though you very rarely do. We don’t feel so inferior.”

“Humans are hardly inferior,” Mekashe retorted. “We have different areas of advantage. Ours is strength and speed. Yours is compassion and tenacity.”

“Thanks,” Hahnson said.

“It makes for an interesting combination, the humans and Cehn-Tahr in the Holconcom,” Mekashe replied. “I miss the unit,” he added gently. “While it is a great honor to command the kehmatemer, the emperor’s personal bodyguard, I miss pitting my skill against Rhemun’s in the Kahn-Bo.”

“I think he misses it, too. But his son, Kipling, is almost as formidable as you are, on the mat.”

“Kipling and Dtimun’s son, Komak, are almost old enough to join the military. Although, between us, I think Kipling will be the greater warrior. Komak enjoys more cerebral pursuits. I think he may make a scientist, like his grandmother the empress.”

“She is formidable.”

“Yes, indeed.” He held up the vacuum pack. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re most welcome. I wish you great good fortune.”

Mekashe frowned slightly. “You sounded as if more than the racial laws kept Ruszel and Dtimun apart,” he began.

Just as he said it, the alert sounded. Rhemun’s deep voice came over the intership frequency, in Cehn-Tahr, announcing a mission and calling for all hands to report immediately to their stations.

“It doesn’t matter.” Mekashe shrugged it off with a smile. “Thank you, again.”

“My pleasure. We’ll talk again.”

“Certainly.”

* * *

HE STOPPED BACK by the command deck to say his farewells to Rhemun.

“I miss the excitement of these engagements,” he confessed to his friend, who was forwarding new orders to his officers over the vid screen.

“I sometimes miss guarding the emperor.” Rhemun chuckled. “But we must do what our Clan status dictates.”

“We must. Thank you for allowing me access to Hahnson. I’ll be in touch.”

“Keep well.”

“And you.”

* * *

MEKASHE SWITCHED OFF the holon, after he retrieved the vacuum bag from the device, where it was captured just before his departure from the Morcai. The technology was amazing, even to the Cehn-Tahr who had used it for generations. It was almost undetectable as apart from reality. The ability to touch and taste, to physically interact with other humanoids, was like magic.

He was grateful, because he’d never have been able to make the trip in real time to rendezvous with the Morcai and retrieve his precious cargo before the passenger ship docked at Memcache. And he didn’t want to waste a single second of this new and exciting relationship he was beginning with Jasmine.

* * *

HE USED A trace of the nanotech on his hands and face and hoped fervently that it would work as intended. He couldn’t afford to trigger a mating behavior, not now. He did wonder at what Hahnson had said, about the racial laws being in addition to some other concern about interspecies mating. But he put it out of his mind. Surely it was insignificant.

He went out to meet Jasmine and her father, dressed in a modern suit that was adapted to Cehn-Tahr standards. It was of a soft fabric that emphasized the powerful muscles in his arms and legs, and of a soft blue color that highlighted his pale gold skin and thick, jet-black hair.

Jasmine almost ran to meet him when he came into the lounge area. She was dressed in a very becoming soft blue dress that fell to her ankles. It flowed around her slender body. Like the other dress he’d seen her wear, it was extremely conservative, with a high neckline and long sleeves, in a floral blue pattern.

“How well we match,” Mekashe teased.

She flushed and her blue eyes twinkled. “Yes, we do.”

“A good omen,” he added in his soft, deep voice. “Do you like opera?”

Her lips fell open. “Oh, I love it!”

“I arranged to get tickets for the performance tomorrow evening of a Terravegan opera company. They are performing something called Madama Butterfly.” He frowned. “Does it have something to do with a form of insect...?”

She laughed, delighted. “No. I’ll explain it to you,” she said. “If that was an invitation, I would love to go. With you,” she added.

His heart lifted. “I can get another ticket, if your father...?”

“Hates opera,” she said at once, and flushed at her boldness. “He likes music, but he prefers instrumentals.”

His smile broadened. “Then he won’t mind if I escort just you?”

“I’m certain that he won’t,” she said. “I’m of age, you know,” she added quickly, in case he thought she had to have her parent’s permission. After all, eighteen was considered adult status now, with the small wars ongoing in the three galaxies. Most of the regular space navy and army recruits were themselves eighteen. A politician had written the current law, with the justification that if a soldier was old enough to die for his political affiliation, he was old enough to be considered an adult and served liquor in a bar.

Mekashe had never considered her age. She seemed not much removed from that of Princess Lyceria, who was also young at barely seventy years. He didn’t realize that humans had life spans far abbreviated from that of Cehn-Tahr, who could live for hundreds of years. In fact, Mekashe himself had seen two hundred and fifty years.

They stood in the corridor, staring at each other, smiling, while passengers walked around them with amused, hidden smiles.

“I suppose we’re blocking traffic,” Mekashe said after a near collision with a very heavy passenger. “We should go.”

“Yes...!” She caught her breath as he reached for her hand and slowly closed his big one around it.

The contact was electrifying, but it didn’t produce any unwanted urges to attack other males. Apparently, Hahnson’s nanotech worked well.

Mekashe smiled at her look of surprise. “In special cases, we can touch humans,” he said after a few seconds. “The racial laws forbidding it have been repealed. However, I had to make certain requests,” he added nebulously.

Her fingers, cool and shivery, closed shyly around his big hand. He felt very warm. She studied his hard, handsome face. “You’re very warm,” she said hesitantly.

He smiled. “My body temperature is somewhere around three degrees warmer than that of a human. You feel nicely cool to me.”