By the time planetary species develop the technology for interstellar space travel, their societies usually have become more or less unified. Whether this is due to the supreme effort and expense to build interstellar vehicles or due to a fundamental societal maturity leading up to this accomplishment is unclear. What has been shown is that most planets enter the interstellar community as a single socio-political entity.
The Askarans were one of the exceptions. Passionate, opinionated, fractious, obstinate, all were characteristics shared by most Askarans. They were a traditional people and breaking with tradition was one of their favorites. They loved everything. They argued over everything. They fought over everything. It was something akin to a planet full of siblings. Small wars were commonplace, yet short in duration. Treaties were often lenient, even magnanimous. In spite of their myriad differences of opinion, they were able to work together and build dynamic, energetic societies almost in spite of themselves.
Among the spacefaring galactic species, this social dynamic spawned numerous comparisons with the humans, who had also somehow managed to avoid developing the maturity to build a single socio-political entity. There were major differences, however. For one thing, the Askarans had a reptilian evolutionary origin. Their hairless skin had a scaly characteristic which displayed a motley array of yellows, greens and browns. Some even had a vestige of a tail at the base of their spines. In all other ways, however, they resembled humans, although most Askarans and humans alike would chafe a bit at the comparison.
They were certainly more forgiving than humans, in spite of their aggressive nature. In that vein, they were surprisingly tolerant of outworlders. The early days of Human / Askaran interaction were filled with stories of friendly jeers, snarky comments and restrained bar fights. To the Askarans, it was all good fun and it took a while for the humans to come to terms with their new friends.
One notable incident of those early days involved the human pilot of an independent cargo trader who walked into one of the rougher Askaran pubs typically found near their space ports. He was on the fourth pub of his crawl when he decided to counter the trending Askaran jeer regarding the wisdom of teaching primates to fly with a rather suggestive inquiry about the “Askaran Love Handle”, a pejorative term referring to the aforementioned vestige of prehistoric tail. It was not known where the pilot had learned the term or if he fully understood the deep cultural minefield he had just walked into, but, regardless, a deep silence spread throughout the bar. A female of one of the warrior castes, of which the pilot was ignorant, approached him and asked in a surprisingly soft yet even voice what he wanted to know. Noticing the pervasive silence, and the hint of protrusion that her clothes softly defined about her lower back, he paused, leaned over and whispered something in her ear. What he said is lost to history as, in response, she picked him up bodily and carried him from the bar. When asked about it a day or so later by the bartender, she replied that she was keeping her Pet at home until he learned all she could teach him about Askaran culture, manners and biology. She stressed the biology. The story does not divulge if he was an adept student or not.
~/~
When Mathieu kin’Fontaine landed on Askara-II, he was in need of a good place to lay low and regain his strength. The Hunt was officially over, had been for some cycles, and this had allowed the Gray Guild, scattered though they were, to focus their pent-up rage on their archenemy. Without the Hunt, it also meant that he was longer being paid to take part in his personal vendetta and funds were getting scarce. For not the first time in his chaotic life, he wondered if it was time to assume a new identity and leave his past behind.
His lack of funds initially led him to Mentath-IV and began what could only be described using non-profane words as a colossal series of missteps. Unfortunately, the only skills he possessed at the time were military and clandestine in nature and, while valuable, the market is not a wide one and trust in that particular marketplace needs to be earned over time. That time had progressed slowly in the immediate cycles after the Hunt, that is, until an opportunity for a fat score came in via the DarkNet. One of the Spice Guilds on Mentath needed a covert operative for some deep commercial espionage for what seemed like an obscene amount of credits. While not his usual bailiwick, it seemed like a good opportunity to expand his horizons and his wallet at the same time.
The fact that Xyla, according to his other sources, was also on Mentath-IV sealed the deal. Two birds, one stone and all that. As he was no longer on the Hunt, perhaps he could somehow get around whatever hoodoo allowed the The Touch to tip her off.
It all went south, as the archaic terrestrial expression goes. The Touch interfered as it always did when it came to Mathieu and Xyla and this side quest took him away from his espionage work at a most inopportune time. While the mission was mostly successful in his judgement, the Spice Guild did not agree and payment was withheld. Full payment; when dealing with the Mentaths, one should always read the fine print. As it happened, Mathieu did not take the judgement well. In response to this slight he decided to steal a Mentathian relic from their holiest of churches as his payment. It was ballsy; it was brash; it was blindingly stupid.
In spite of the intense response by the authorities, Mathieu was able to leave Mentath space a half step ahead of them. But that was only half the story; he needed a good place to lay low outside of the extensive Mentathian trade routes. For this reason, Askara-II served the purpose.
Askara-II, however, served another purpose. While a holy relic is worth a rather large fortune, one cannot simply buy a cup of joe with one. He was both very rich and very poor and very on the lam. And without available funds, his flight to Askara-II could become a dead end, perhaps literally.
Everyone knew the Askarans loved a good fight, but they were notoriously bad at anything clandestine. Spying and hiding in the shadows were simply not in their toolbox. ‘Face me, fight me’ would’ve made a great Askaran motto. And so, someone with Mathieu’s talents could probably make a quick credit or two if all went according to plan.
Long story short, it didn’t.
Short story long, in hindsight, the clandestine request to meet with T’Malka A’Qarth, Princess of Thuun, came about way too easily.
Of the 25 nations of Askara, Thuun was the second largest. It was also the most ambitious. T’Malka was the only child of P’Tal and T’Luun A’Qarth, the King and Queen of Thuun, and was every bit as ambitious as her parents. She was head of the nation’s security apparatus and, in that capacity, secretly notified Mathieu of her intention to hire him for covert work.
When Mathieu first met with T’Malka in a safehouse apartment, he was surprised by the complete lack of pheromone sense. While he had noticed that most Askaran women had a very subdued signature, the complete lack of one caught him off guard. Regardless of that fact, this initial meeting was professional and Mathieu agreed to do some low-level observation work in several of the other Askaran countries for a fairly handsome payment.
That first successful mission led to more intrusive espionage work involving courier and dead drop ops with ever increasing payments. Throughout this service, he worked through one or more low-level intermediaries.
After one particular mission involving the theft of military defense technology, Mathieu was called back to Thuunevaal, Thuun’s capital city, for a direct report to T’Malka. Meeting in her safehouse apartment, Mathieu was again struck by her lack of pheromone scent. Shaking off his unease, he listened as T’Malka thanked him for jobs well done and told him how his services were greatly appreciated by the royal family and citizenry of Thuun.
She swiped past a few screens on her datapad then paused and met his eyes for a time. Finally she broke the silence, “Today, Thuun finds itself in a difficult situation. We are a warlike people; that should come as no surprise to you by now. However, usually our conflicts are over minor disputes or political perceptions and are over quickly enough to recover from. Something else, though, is happening.” She paused, then added, “All reports that I’ve received over the past year or so seem to indicate a multinational attack is building up against us. Thuun is going to need every able-bodied Thuunian in the military if we hope to survive this attack with our national integrity intact. However, even with that, it may not be enough.”
She stood up and walked around the desk, motioning for Mathieu to follow her. Together they walked from the office through the sitting room and out onto the balcony overlooking the city. Down below and well into the distance was a bustling city, teeming with life and energy. T’Malka put both hands on the balcony’s railing and leaned forward looking into the distance as if salvation could be delivered from the horizon through sheer will. After a minute or so, she dropped her head and turned to face him, eyes full of concern. “Mathieu, Thuun needs friends, even outworlder friends. Please understand that our pride makes this difficult to ask of an outworlder. However, I see no other way. I fear the next war that Thuun finds herself involved in will be a war for her very survival. I…, we need your help.” A pause, then, “How much are you willing to do for Thuun? Will you help us? Will you help me?”
It hit him then, like a brick in the face. A pheromone sense like no other he had sensed before. The scent was foreign yet familiar. It was the wild abandon of running the white water rapids on Nova Terra, the exhilaration of a shared childhood prank, and the excited promise of newfound love. And it enveloped him and consumed him whole. A quick, panicked thought flitted across his conscious mind warning him that this was more than a strong signature. The warning died though, as he drank in her golden eyes, her dark green mottled skin, the curves of her body both seen and hinted. His last conscious words were a husky-soft “Yes”, as his lips met hers and the white water rapids washed his mind away.
Mathieu’s consciousness drowsily returned to him in a berthing compartment of an Askaran maglev en route to God-knows-where. Trailing behind were the scattered memories of three days of heaven and mildly constrained debauchery. A quick peek under the bed sheets confirmed that he was wearing an undergarment whose sole purpose was entertainment. His memories told him many other things as well as he lie there regaining his wits. Many, many other things.
Mathieu got up from the bed and walked to the shower, passing his discarded clothes on the side table and a new Askaran traveling robe on the door hook. He knew his new orders were in one of the robe’s pockets, but he couldn’t care less at this point. What he needed right now was a hot shower, alone this time he grunted to himself, and some time to think about what had happened.
Mathieu fought to organize his thoughts and feelings. He felt a curious mixture of contented pride and shame over the recollected events and was deeply troubled by the lack of control he experienced from T’Malka’s pheromone signature. It wasn’t just the lack of control that concerned him. Mathieu had put himself in situations before where he let things go and enjoyed the results of chaotic indulgences, but this was different. He had made no prior conscious decision to immerse himself in T’Malka’s pleasures and, most importantly, had felt no desire to do so beforehand. The most troubling thought though was that he wanted to do it again. And not as a conscious desire, but as an unconscious need. The fact that he casually dismissed the possible harm in it should have been a clue of sorts.
After his shower, Mathieu dressed, ordered a meal and read his new orders. He sighed audibly after reading the concise document. He was to sabotage a military maglev switching station in the neighboring country of Kithuun. A line had just been crossed, whether now in his acceptance of the order or three days ago was nothing more than a split hair.
This new job was the beginning of a cycle that would last six months and start a covert war among the nations of Askara. Mathieu would return from his assignment, lose three or so days to T’Malka’s payments and find himself on a maglev for parts unknown with new orders. Each cycle reinforced Mathieu’s need for T’Malka’s presence and his desire to please her. When his fourth sabotage mission failed due to increased security, T’Malka did not meet him in her safehouse apartment. Instead, he was sent to a flophouse on the outskirts of Thuunvaal and received his new orders by courier. Mathieu responded by completing both missions and getting lightly wounded in the process. T’Malka gave him five full days for that.
Eventually the sabotage became noticeable and the nations of Askara began a surprisingly, for them, covert war of mutual sabotage. What kept the conflict from spinning into open warfare was a lack of evidence pointing to a single perpetrator. From the evidence gathered, everyone was attacking everyone else from the get go.
After months of this slow burn, the nations of Askara decided to call a truce to end the hostilities. All covert operations ceased and Mathieu found himself back in T’Malka’s apartment where she kept him in a constant state of controlled delirium until the situation changed.
Time passed and became a mere concept. When Mathieu finally awoke from his deep stupor, he found himself in a low-rent apartment in Valkevaal, the capital city of Valke, the largest nation on the planet. He was watching the live video feed of the peace negotiations and trying to reconstruct his memories. His heart jumped when he saw the Askaran leaders, including T’Malka’s parents, making their way to a long table set on a dais in the Treaty Room of their National Assembly building. He knew immediately that the dais was wired to a large explosive and he knew who had put it there.
In his right hand was a remote control, but it had nothing to do with the vidscreen he was looking at. Horrified, he was considering his options, when he heard the door behind him open. He began to swoon, but he fought hard to maintain control, knowing what the immediate future held. She approached him quickly and stood behind the low-backed sofa he was sitting in. She ran her hands along his shoulders and up behind his neck, running her hands into his thick reddish hair. He felt himself losing control, but he kept fighting nonetheless. She ran her hands down over his shoulders and onto his chest as she bent down and whispered in his left ear, “Hello my little Field Marshal. Did you miss me?”
“Yes. Yes, my love. I’ve missed you horribly.” Mathieu was barely aware of where his response came from.
“Have all the preparations been made?” she purred into his ear.
“Yes. Everything’s ready. All that needs to be done is to trigger the detonation with this remote.” Mathieu reached up with his left hand and ran his fingers over the smooth scales on the top of her head. “I ache for you.” he whispered and turned to kiss T’Malka full on the mouth.
She put a finger over his lips and pulled her head away just slightly. “Now now, my love. Your mission isn’t complete yet. We need this one final victory before you can conquer me.” As Mathieu turned his head back to the vidscreen, she moved in closer, nibbled on his ear and ran her right hand into his hair. She whispered, “When my parents take their seats, you may complete your mission, my little Field Marshal.” She thought a bit and said, “Field Marshal. Such a cold name, Field Marshal. Much too formal, though you certainly deserve the rank.” A pause, then, “How did your ancestors pronounce it? Feldmarschal? That has a nice ring to it. My little feldmarschal. My little Feldy. Hmmm… Feldy, when my parents take their seats, would you be so kind as to obliterate them?” Her laughter rang like birdsong across his consciousness.
When P’Tal and T’Luun A’Qarth of Thuun took their seats, Mathieu somehow managed to keep his thumb off the button. “Feldy, is something wrong? It’s time to fulfill your destiny. It’s time to push the button.” Like a life raft in a hurricane, Mathieu focused all the will he had and kept his thumb off the dreaded button. Perhaps, he thought, he could beat this. Perhaps he might actually be able to … become utterly consumed in all that was T’Malka’s ambition and desire. Completely unaware of subsequent moments, he pushed the button.
~/~
Mathieu regained his senses in an Askaran military prison outside of Valkevaal. Over the next few days, he would learn that the bomb had not detonated when he pressed the button on the remote. His identity had been discovered during an earlier mission in his haste to complete it and get back to T’Malka. Valkian security forces had spotted his entry into the country and, instead of arresting him immediately, decided to set up a sting operation for whoever was behind the operation. The bomb was easily discovered and defused right after Mathieu had installed it and a receiver was set up to notify security when the transmitter was activated.
Right after Mathieu had pressed the button, security forces moved on the apartment. T’Malka, however, tipped off by the fact that there was no explosion on the vidscreen, made her escape. Worse still, she engaged a secondary plan and other independent covert operatives opened fire on the legation as they were exiting the building, killing her parents and most of the others. While less impressive than a large scale detonation, the carnage was just as complete. Agitated security officers found their senseless primary suspect within moments and roughly arrested him.
T’Malka immediately assumed power and Thuun used the initial confusion to rapidly assault their neighbors. Some of the other, smaller countries allied with the stronger Thuun and a global war was at hand. Mathieu cooperated with his interrogators and described his activities and motives as best he could. When Mathieu described the Pheromone Signature and T’Malka’s perceived effects upon that sense, Askaran medical teams were brought in to examine him. After several invasive tests, no cause could be found to account for the type of behavior he described. It was determined that Mathieu invented that aspect of his testimony so as to get a lesser sentence. After a quick trial, he was convicted on several counts of crimes against Askara and sentenced to death. Upon a subsequent appeal, considering his cooperation, he was sentenced to service in a penal unit.
Mathieu spent the entirety of the war with the 467th Valkian Penal Battalion. Nine months after the start of the war, as the Grand Allied Armies rallied from Thuun’s initial advantage and marched into the aggressor nation, the 467th was prepared for the assault on Thuunvaal. By now, Mathieu was the only survivor of the original complement of men and women, though he had been wounded numerous times.
When the final assault came, the 467th, commanded by a Capt. Fontaine, once again led the way into a hostile city with their arsenal of stun weapons and, once again, the unit took horrible losses finding booby traps, mapping minefields and softening up fortified positions. As the battle in the city intensified, and military units fragmented into individual squads and platoons, Mathieu found himself near T’Malka’s old safehouse apartment. He went in to search for any clues that might relate to her whereabouts and found T’Malka in her old office collecting documents. Along the back wall, a hidden door was slightly ajar.
She looked up, surprised, then flashed a knowing, wicked smile as Mathieu felt his consciousness begin to slip away in a way that was oh so familiar and oh so wonderful.
“Feldy, sweetling. I can’t believe you’re still alive. Have you come to say goodbye? I’d stay and shag you one last time, but I’m a little busy right now.”
“So am I”, Mathieu replied as he squeezed the trigger of the stun rifle. The shot was true and T’Malka’s body dropped to the floor. Standing over her still form, Mathieu, with complete clarity of thought, shot her several more times. Battle fatigue, it seems, did have one advantage.
Mathieu activated the comm link. “Capt. Fontaine of the 467th to Task Force Command. I have T’Malka A’Qarth in my possession. Repeat. I have T’Malka A’Qarth in my possession. Copy?”