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The Soldier jabbed Nam in the chest with a long finger and spread his huge mandibles wide, acid beading on the sharp points. “What did it say? What—”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Stand down, Loh.” A deep and melodic tone carried across the hangar and every Insect fell silent. Walking sedately from a door on their right came a tall Insect. He looked nothing like any of the Insect types Fal’ran had seen or heard of before. He had no mandibles, only a smooth, strong jaw. Armor plated over his shoulders and the backs of his hands, but he had far less carapace and far more pale skin than any of the other Insects. Long feathered antennae swept back from his forehead and swayed down to his hips. Most extraordinary of all, huge, transparent, shimmering wings folded across his back and dragged along the floor behind him like the long train of a robe.
“An alate,” Sazahk whispered in awe. Fal’ran didn’t know what the word meant, but he agreed with the sentiment. The Insect struck an impressive figure.
He approached at a regal pace. When he reached them, he put a hand on the Soldier and guided him back away from Nam. “It said they’re not enemies.” He swept his eyes—a deep purple rather than black—across their squad and spoke in smooth and only lightly accented Universal. “Though they have a lot of weapons for ‘not enemies.’”
Nam sprang to his side and her people swarming out from under their squad’s guns. “They stowed away and commandeered our ship, my prince.”
The prince raised the carapace-studded brows over his eyes. “They certainly sound like enemies.”
Patrick smiled his disarmingly boyish smile. “They took me as a prisoner and tortured me.” He inclined his head in a teasing gesture that still fell on just the right side of politeness. “My prince.”
The Insect’s lips twitched in a small smile that, combined his lack of mandibles, made him seem less alien. “Prince Hyg. And you are?”
Nam spoke first. “Patrick Smith. Battalion Four. Squad M.”
Prince Hyg lifted a hand. “Let him speak, Nam.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Hyg.” Patrick nodded his head again but didn’t approach to shake hands. “You can call me Patrick.”
“Patrick,” Hyg said the name slowly, as though testing it on his tongue. “You don’t wear the uniform of your species.”
Fal’ran’s eyes widened. They spoke their language, recognized their uniforms. The Insects outstripped the sector’s governments in intelligence gathering to a disconcerting degree.
“I wear the uniform of my country.” Patrick’s voice held only a touch of defensiveness and he moved on quickly. “I’d be happy to elaborate on why, but we don’t have the time.” He glanced around at the hundreds of eyes on them. The hangar had filled to near bursting since they’d first arrived. “Can we speak privately?”
Fal’ran agreed. These people were terrified enough without knowing the entire sector’s armada bore down on them at that very moment, eager to eradicate them.
The angry Soldier, Loh, stepped forward with a commanding clack of his mandibles. “My prince, I cannot allow—”
The prince lifted a hand, and the Soldier quieted, his posture drooping submissively. Surveying their squad, Prince Hyg brushed an antenna over Nam’s shoulder. He raised his eyebrows again, and she nodded.
“Very well.” Prince Hyg straightened and pointed at Patrick. “You, and only you, may follow me.”
Fal’ran’s feet stepped him in front of Patrick before his brain caught up. When it did, he planted himself more solidly. “Hell no. He doesn’t go alone.”
“Fal’ran.” Patrick grabbed Fal’ran’s shoulder, but Fal’ran didn’t look away from the prince.
“He doesn’t go alone,” Fal’ran repeated. He hadn’t stowed away on an Insect ship, fought Insect Soldiers in close combat, cut Patrick down from the goddamn ceiling, and patched him up just to let him walk away into the bowels of this floating monstrosity with this weirdly handsome, winged bug.
Prince Hyg cocked his head and brushed Nam’s wrist with his antenna. His eyes widened, and he flicked his gaze up and down Fal’ran’s rigid body. “Fair enough. Patrick Smith, Battalion four, Squad M, you may choose one companion to accompany you.”
Patrick squeezed Fal’ran’s shoulder. “Tar—” For a horrible, ugly, moment, the floor dropped out from under Fal’ran’s feet as Patrick chose Tar to be by his side instead of Fal’ran. Then Patrick continued “—Bar’in, Sazahk, stay together. Sazahk, establish a connection to Emissary Serihk’s ship.” Sazahk made an irritated grunt, so quiet it might have been involuntary. “Tell them we’ve made contact. Give us thirty minutes before sounding the alarm.”
“Yes, sir,” three voices replied.
Patrick looked back with a huge grin and the sweetest smell of pride to have ever touched Fal’ran’s nose. “I knew you all would say it one day.”
“Don’t get killed and make it the last time,” Bar’in tossed his head, but Fal’ran smelled the affection on him.
“No promises.” Patrick gazed at each of them. He smelled blank, but his eyes shimmered with emotion. His throat bobbed, and he turned back to Prince Hyg. “After you, your highness.”
Prince Hyg raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the title. He led them to a door on the hangar’s perimeter, pausing to touch an antenna to Loh’s shoulder. “Guard them. But cause no trouble.”
“Yes, my prince.” The Soldier bowed his head, and Patrick and Fal’ran passed him as they followed Nam and Prince Hyg.
