Strange music for a deposition, T’Kiarlok mused as he waited in the great foyer, listening to the hauntingly melodic runs of an Egnarian 128-string water harp. Each tone echoed in the vastness of the chamber, and sounded like the enchanting water fall cascades Yrbed. If it weren’t for the gravity in this land structure, he would have thought he was actually back in the Great Sea.
Deposition, and its associated ceremonial trappings was ritual after any mission. This one, though, had a much different feel to it. It wasn’t just that the usual, powerfully brash battle hymns did not thunder through the foyer speakers. Nor was it that he was alone and not accompanied by his brigade leaders. He could not put his sagittal on it, but even his lateral line felt more agitated than normal.
What more could they want? T’Kiarlok tried to worm his vertebral implant to a tolerable position as he mulled every detail of his mission to Lacerta. But as he paged through the details impressed in his ganglia, from the first landing, to the escaped Lacerta, he realized everything was recorded in his deposition. Gheng, I even included the vegetative anomalies on the Phys . . .
“Y’Fjorrik!” The memory slapped him so hard across his cephalus that he shivered. She must have registered a dissension because of what I said to her. She could ruin me . . . if they believed her.
“Warrior, Sixth Order B,theel T’Kiarlok!” a gruff voice bellowed over the loudspeaker, interrupting the music. T’Kiarlok froze, stiffened to attention.
“Enter the chamber!” The sound of the four sagittals dancing through the hard strings resumed once the echo dissipated.
T’Kiarlok twisted his eyestalks down and inspected his ceremonial olive dress tunic, neatly gathered at his torso. The ten nestar old gold and silver belt earned in his very first battle tied the moisture barrier in place. He sharply tugged at it once, then sucked in a deep breath of the thickly moistened air. Comfortable he was prepared, he slipped into range of the motion detector. The chamber doors immediately jumped to life, humming as they opened.
He stepped inside, stopping briefly to capture a full view of the stark, Spartan chamber. Two fathoms in front of him were the three conference tables of the Eighth Council, and behind them sat the Cephalarians, the eight most powerful beings on Egnaro. At the far left sat the home planet contingent, three seats specifically reserved for a home citizenry voice. At the right, the two highest ranking military officers on Egnaro, and T’Garmlok, the head of the Manta’sheel. And in the center sat the two eldest and most powerful Cephalarians, T’Junflok and Y’Rekopik.
T’Kiarlok respectfully bowed, then lifted his eyes and obediently stared at the cephali of the council.
“Warrior, Sixth Order B,theel T’Kiarlok,” T’Junflok’s gravely voice announced as his sagittal limb tapped the computer screen recessed in his table. The elder’s droopy eyes sank back into their stalks as he slowly moved his head from side to side. “Your statement reveals a successful mission. Egnaro is grateful.”
Cephalarian Y’Rekopik cleared her esophagus with a long, insistent growl, then curtly added: “We have no questions regerding your deposition. However, we have received other, somewhat disturbing news. That is why . . . “
T’Kiarlok heard no more. He swallowed hard as he felt his lateral line tingle into overload. A plume of ammoniated perspiration emanated from the open collar of his moisture barrier.
“How may I be of service, Council?”
T’Junflok’s grim expression soured. He stared at Y’Rekopik for a brief moment, then nodded and faced T’Kiarlok.
“Here on Egnaro,” he started with a doleful drone. “The situation with the New Orderists is raising much concern. They are becoming more openly defiant of our jurisdiction.”
Dryness scraped at T’Kiarlok’s esophagus.
“We also have information that there may have been some members of this particular mission who did not fulfill their duties,” Y’Rekopik bluntly interjected.
“I assure you, Cephalarian, everyone assigned to me completed the mission to the best of their ability,” T’Kiarlok defensively replied. “There were no unreported mutinies. I have certified that under . . . “
“Mutiny is not the issue!” T’Garmlok cited. His eyes iced over, stern. “I have received an internal report which indicates that . . . “
I cannot betray my friend, T’Gra. It was only hypoxia, T’Kiarlok’s teeth chewed nervously on his oral aperture as T’Garmlok rambled.
“Although, I must admit, unofficial,” T’Garmlok continued with stoic adamacy. “The information we have indicates that some of the warriors on the mission refused to participate! Although minor, this is still a desertion, none the less. Remember your oath to the council before you answer this question . . . do you have any recollection of any soldier . . . “
Y’Fjorrik! T’Garmlok’s implication stimulated T’Kiarlok’s memory. That’s why I didn’t remember her on the surface. She was never there.
A silent pall blanketed the chamber. Combing through his own thoughts, T’Kiarlok suddenly realized T’Garmlok had finished and the council was waiting his response.
“I do remember one . . . Fifth Order Q,reah Y’Fjorrik!”
The assembly gasped collectively, then fell silent as a windless night on the sea, leaving only the faint hissing of moisture jets misting the chamber. Every cephalus on the council soured as if T’Kiarlok had addressed the members by their given names outside of expected protocol.
“Y’Fjorrik . . .” T’Junflok growled. He tipped his cephalus and knowingly perched his eye covers. “Do you know who Q,reah Y’Fjorrik is, T’Kiarlok?”
“I did say Fifth Order, I believe. Yes, Y’Fjorrik was a Fifth Order,” T’Kiarlok mumbled.
“Y’Fjorrik is not in the service,” T’Garmlok groused. His grim, cold expression mimicked the other cephalarians.
“Manta’sheel?” T’Kiarlok muttered, under his breath, he thought.
“Never!” T’Garmlok exploded, slamming both sagittals into the table. “I’d never . . . “
“We believe she is the head of the Neord Peace movement,” Y’Rekopik cut off T’Garmlok’s tantrum, glaring at him with consternation. She waved her sagittals in a weak effort to defuse T’Garmlok. “Some Egnarians feel she may even have massed enough follower ship to consider a move on the government.”
“Mutiny?” T’Kiarlok hinted disbelief. The silence of the council made T’Kiarlok think he had struck a ganglia.
“If I may be so bold as to question . .. if the Neords are as dedicated to peace as they claim, why would they consider an overthrow. After all, that is by no means what anyone could consider a peaceful gesture!”
“Don’t be fooled by what is said, T’Kiarlok. Dissenters are never what they claim!” T’Garmlok patronized, then leaned forward and uncharacteristically whispered: “You are a highly trusted officer, T’Kiarlok, so I would hope this information does not become public knowledge. Especially since what I am about to reveal would cause chaos if all Egnarians knew it.”
T’Kiarlok nodded quickly and confidently, unmoved by T’Garmlok’s threat.
“As a precautionary measure, I have ordered Manta’sheel operatives to infiltrate the Neords,” he started with a hushed, but obviously agitated voice. “My informants tell me that the Neords will consider anything to assume power. Even compromise their own publicized ideals.”
“I see,” T’Kiarlok nodded. He remained rigidly at attention, icily staring at T’Garmlok.
“Even placing their own operatives on critical missions . . . possibly to conduct acts of sabotage,” T’Garmlok added. Hatred oozed in his words.
“Then I will be more careful on future missions,” T’Kiarlok flippantly whispered.
“This is not a matter to take lightly, T’Kiarlok!” T’Garmlok vaulted from his seat and threateningly waved his sagittal at T’Kiarlok. “The consequences of Neords infiltrating our military structure are profound! Do you understand that?”
“I assure you, Cephalarian T’Garmlok, I am well aware of the consequences of Neords in my battalions! And by no means do I take this, or any threat presented to me, lightly.” T’Kiarlok hurled back. His rigid stare clearly punctuated his seriousness in no uncertain terms.
“I remember the mutiny at Alpheeca as clearly as if it were the past planetary cycle! I lost warriors there! Tenged good warriors! Nothing will ever erase that from my sub ganglia, Cephalarian! And I consider a Neord infiltration as gravely as I do mutiny!”
“There is nothing more to discuss. You may leave now, T’Kiarlok,” T’Junflok’s voice was laced with despair. His glare at the two sparring Egnarians registered displeasure with their behavior. “You have all the information you need.”
T’Kiarlok snapped about face and exited the chamber, still irritated by T’Garmlok’s display. When the doors silently closed behind him, T’Kiarlok exhaled so explosively his ventilation tubes fluttered.
“Gheng! The sooner I get this thing removed, the happier I’ll be!” T’Kiarlok muttered, trying to squeeze his vertebral implant into a more comfortable position.
“T’Kiarlok!” a gentle female voice called.
T’Kiarlok stopped in mid-stride and turned around.
“Y’Graalok! What a pleasant surprise!” T’Kiarlok startled, then cynically added: “I thought Eighth Orders were sequestered someplace plotting our next conquest!”
“We will be . . .shortly,” Y’Graalok chuckled cordially, then stopped to catch her breath. She quickly rotated her eyes as if to ensure no one was within earshot. “I just wanted to discuss a few items I’ve been meaning to . . . “
“Please excuse my crudeness, but my ventral flap is severely irritated, this tenged stick is grating on my ganglia, and I need some ‘r and r’ to clear my cephalus before I snap and scramble back in there to squeeze the life out of that bloodsucker T’Garmlok!” T’Kiarlok’s words oozed rancor.
“I see the Manta’sheel is maintaining their fine reputation,” Y’Graalok chortled. “I will make this brief. T’Garmlok may be melodramatic, but the threat which he portrays is real.”
“You were in there?” T’Kiarlok recoiled, pointing to the chamber. “I thought it was forbidden . . . “
“Things have changed . . . we’ve had to modify the laws. I can’t stress this too much! It is not to be taken lightly. The Neords have become more violent as they grow in numbers. We have evidence that they may even be responsible for some of the riots which have broken out in the cities.”
“Then I’ll stay in space and avoid the eels!” T’Kiarlok snipped. He spun and continued toward the transport tubes and mantiera bottles.
“Space isn’t as safe as it used to be either,” Y’Graalok cautioned.
“There can’t be that many in the military. We have screening criteria . . . “
“They recruit Egnarians already in the military.”
T’Kiarlok was stunned, but then realized that was precisely waht Y’Fjorrik was trying to do to him.
“For your own protection, the council had decided to assign a Manta’sheel to each mission . . . “
“They did what?” T’Kiarlok’s eyestalks stiffened. From their tips, T’Kiarlok’s eyes bulged.
“To stay on the mother ship as a resource for the mission leader.” Y’Graalok finished.
“Resource? For T’Urilok’s sake, you know the Manta’sheel as well as I do, Y’Graalok. Do you honestly believe they will be as much a resource as the council thinks they’ll be? Gheng, they will be questioning every tenged move commanders like you and I make!”
“I understand how you feel, T’Kiarlok, but in the long run, it may be actually beneficial!” Y’Graalok assuaged.
“I don’t need Manta’sheel watching over me as I walk into battle! I am quite capable of handling myself! Doesn’t my record speak to that?” Agitated, T’Kiarlok glared at Y’Graalok.
“Perhaps. But the debate of the merits and detriments are complete. As a comrade warrior, I thought it was important that you hear from me instead of through rumor.”
A cold chill touched T’Kiarlok’s ganglia and ran the length of his body. He sensed there was something more she was not telling him, but her eyes remained opaque and unreadable.
“I do not see the intelligence behind this move!” T’Kiarlok stormed off, but after two quick steps, he turned and finished: “I appreciate what you have told me, Y’Graalok, but I only have ten cycles left for ‘r and r’. I would like to get some time in the sea . . . . I need it!”
T’Kiarlok smartly turned and proceded down the corridor. As he slipped into the mantiera wing, Y’Graalok sensed a presence.
“You know the Neords are not long from grasping power,” she heard T’Junflok’s throaty whisper.
“I know,” Y’Graalok solemnly replied.
“I may not see it through, Y’Graalok, but I know that you will,” T’Junflok’s defeatism laced his words. “And that warrior, T’Kiarlok, may be the only one who can provide the glue to keep Egnaro together in the coming turmoil of change.”
“I will watch him, T’Junflok . . . and I assure you, T’Kiarlok will survive.”
“Egnaro needs him, Y’Graalok. And I know that Y’Fjorrik knows that too. She will stop at nothing to destroy him. Especially if she suspects what we intend for him. You heard her deposition. She accused him of growing closer to the Neords with such passion that in her mind, he is already her liege. But, when she deduces we are doing, T’Kiarlok will become her obvious adversary.”
“I understand.” Y’Graalok’s peered deeply into T’Junflok’s drooping black eyes. In them, she saw that the he truly believed T’Kiarlok was a target.
“It is your duty, Y’Graalok. Protect him. I see the leadership of the great T’Urilok in him. And for Egnaro’s sake, we need someone like him . . . now! That is all that can keep our society from coming apart at the seams.”
* * * Four * * *
T’Kiarlok euphorically darted through waving flat strands of brown algae, dodging fronds of purple stinging coral. With no set agenda, he meandered his way around the shoal, snapping his tetratarsals sporadically to give his glide a little more speed. He felt the invigorating rush of a cool easterly current, and waved his mantle to rudder him into the stream.
It’s seems like forever since I’ve been out of that tenged environmental suit! he thought, drifting into a lush valley full of greenish-yellow phosphora. He slipped in close to the glowing plants and let their warm luminescence tickle his skin as he passed. When he was clear of the phosphora, he spied a break in the ridge and fluttered his tetratarsals enough enough to guide him toward the opening.
Silver stars! he froze, turning the corner. A thick school of ichthys calmly feathered their fins as they wandered amidst a blue phytoplankton cloud.
Excellent! They didn’t spot me! T’Kiarlok thought as his salivary glands erupted. Streams of salty anticipation flooded his oral cavity.
With the inherent stealth stalk of a hunter, he nudged closer, barely twitching his tetratarsals, his eye stalks trained forward, eyes wide and bulging. He sucked in a mouthful of water silently, then let the stream trickle over his gills and past his thin flapped gill slits. Focused on the largest silver star, he spread his tentacles out as slowly as he could, into an umbrella, then flexed his muscles.
Easy, he reminded himself. Don’t move . . . Now! T’Kiarlok sprung to life. He snapped his tetratarsals together smartly. A rush of water slipped over his curved cephalus as he sliced like an arrow toward his prey.
The water burst into a churned boil with frantic silver stars quivering and chirping into panicked flight. T’Kiarlok gleefully squealed as he thrashed his limbs into the biomass, grasping at the fleeing fish.
When the froth cleared, T’Kiarlok’s eyes v-eed at the prized catch snared tightly in his sagittal. The silver star twitched feebly, trying to escape its inevitable doom. Not wanting to torture his gullet any longer, T’Kiarlok drifted to a seat on a rock, then slipped the ichthys into his oral apeture, head first. He sealed the trap, then reveled in the delicate acerbity. “Mmm,” he murmured as the ichthys juices bathed his taste sensors. He retracted his eyestalks and rolled his eyes back into his cephalus. He relaxed and floated with the sea currents, out to deeper water for a fathom, then back again, until the delectable morsel slid down his esophagus.
Satiated, he oriented himself upright and vented a gas bubble large enough to lift his weight. He carefully caged it with his tetratarsals, and then like he had done so many times as a young squid, rode the buoyant pocket until his cephalus breached the glassy surface. Feathering his tetras, he bobbed in and out of the pleasently thick, moisture laden atmosphere, drinking in the evening’s essense.
Liberated phosphora shimmered in floating patches of luminous blue, effervesing nitrate clouds which hovered like a blanket on the pulsing sea. Creaking sea leeches nibbled on the biomass, rippling the water as they lazily foraged. In the distance, the surf calmly washed upon the rocks, assuaging sea turtles moaning from their arduous daily swim to come and rest.
Just poking over the horizon, Egnaro’s two lemon yellow moons glowed, starting their tandemed journey across the southern sky. Above them, night’s indigo blanket, as deeply rich as an ink cloud, spread out like a canopy, speckled though, with hundreds of tiny, throbbing stars.
But directly overhead, looking as large as the moons, Lacerta pulsed with a slow, solemn rhythm. Each cycle reminded T’Kiarlok of the explosions which punctuated the final battle he commanded. in the invasion of Lacerta Seven. Reptilian limbs, severed from their owners, spewed from each thunderous concussion. Agonized pleas meandered aimlessly until silenced by another round of artillery.
What have we won here, T’Kia? T’Graupok’s query rung loudly in his cephalus.
It doesn’t have to be this way! Y’Fjorrik’s warning echoed back.
“Well, are you going to offer a young female an ichthys, or do I have to go out and get one for myself?”
“X’Sin!” T’Kiarlok shuddered away the memory of Lacerta, startled by a familiar, deep, sensuous voice skimming over the sushing waves. He slipped open his opercula and scanned the surface.
“X’Sin! I wasn’t expecting you for at least another sub-cycle!” T’Kiarlok snapped his tetras and headed toward her.
“My father told me a long time ago . . . if you want to learn about someone, watch them carefully when they don’t know you are looking,” X’Singlok coyly responded, then lifted her sagittal from the water and stroked T’Kiarlok’s cephalus gently.
As her pressure cups pulsed over his moist skin, T’Kiarlok’s lateral line tingled warm drizzles from his lateral line to his cephalic ganglia. His heart galloped with an uncontrolled wild passion, gorging his cepahalic sinuses.
“Tell me then, what does your surveillance reveal which you don’t already know?” T’Kiarlok murmured as memories of tangled embraces with X’Singlok revived in his ganglia, stimulating his endorphins. As he slid his sagittals over X’Singlok’s cephalus to return the pleasure, his own lateral line grew pleasantly conditioned.
“I sense that you are a male of integrity and deep feeling,” X’Singlok whispered. Her limbs continued erotic stroking his skin. “And of conviction to do what is right.”
“And what does your father say about that type of male?” T’Kiarlok prodded, lulled by X’Singlok’s spell.
“He doesn’t. You’re not like anyone he’s ever met, T’Kia,” X’Singlok’s eyes grew wide and expressive. “Nor I.”
“So . . . ?” T’Kiarok pulsed his cups on X’Singlok’s supple cephalus.
“I guess that means I really have no baseline from which to arrive a good conclusion!” X’Singlok noted robotically.
“Gheng, X’Sin! Are you trying to analyze me or get to know me?” T’Kiarlok withdrew, immediately stiffened by X’Singlok’s clinical words. His mood dulled, falling flacid.
“I certainly hope I haven’t become just another one of your experiments!” he joked, sarcstically.
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I left my experiments back at the Science Council,” X’Singlok’s voice grew immediately defensive as she stopped her stroking. “Please don’t misjudge me, T’kia. I’m truley not being a mantiera here. I’m just very curious as to what makes up this male I’ve come to know as B,theel T’Kiarlok.”
“Well, perhaps then I need to mainain some sense of mystery in your mind . . . and let you explore a bit further!” T’Kiarlok’s eyes grew impish. He submerged with splash, then smartly snapped his tetras together and slid out into deeper water. Not wanting X’Singlok to misread his intentions, he vented a faint but distinct trail of pheremone.
After ten fathoms, X’Singlok caught up with T’Kiarlok, then teased him with a hint of her own scent. She wrapped her tetras around his, and after a brief, passionate embrace, they drifted toward the surface, entangled.
T’Kiarlok gazed past X’Singlok’s cephalus as salinity trickled off his bulbous cephalus. The moons, now mottled and milky-white, playfully chased each other across the night sky. Lacerta’s glow remained ominous, but X’Singlok’s sweetly delicate aroma lingering at the surface captured his attention. Spurred into high gear by the flood of hormones in his veins, his mating drive extinguished any of the repent he felt before. Lust gorged his heart. Logic fell victim to his primal instincts.
“There is something else I’d like to know about you, T’kia. Something I can’t get from observing you.” X’Singlok whispered close enough to T’Kiarlok’s ears that he heard the air escape her mouth.
Now this is precisely what my mantiera ordered, T’Kiarlok mused as he seductively peered into X’Singlok’s eyes.
“And what could that be?” he growled with anticipation. His skin tingled as it slid across hers.
“How do you feel about the New Order?”
“Excuse me?” T’Kiarlok asked breathlessly, suddenly chilled as if hit by a cold rush of northern current.
“I’m curious, T’kia. How do you feel about them?” X’Singlok insisted, backing off enough to get a full view of T’Kiarlok.
T’Kiarlok recoiled, stunned.
Ask me a question on what herb I think is the best stimulant, or what I like to eat, or . .. .or how delicate my mating technique is . . .
“We’ve been debating the merits of the New Order at the Science Council and I was curious what someone like you . . . “
“I really don’t think we need to talk about that!” T’Kiarlok bluntly cut off her clinical tone. “Especially now!”
“But, I must differ with you, T’kia. They do affect all of Egnaro . . . . And our future. Events here are moving so quickly now. Haven’t you ever thought what will happen to warriors like you if the New Order comes to power?”
“As a matter of fact, I have . . . and all too recently for my tastes,” T’Kiarlok challanged, immediately haunted by Y’Fjorrik’s threatening sagittals waving in his cephalus.
“Well, I have as well!” X’Singlok soapboxed, oblivious to T’Kiarlok’s response, consumed in her own thoughts. “Do you realize that if we do head in that direction, mantieras like me would be able to make great contributions to society! Gheng, T’Kia, just think of the possibilities!”
And then I can listen to more mantiera-babble after a mission!
“Instead of just expending our talants on developing another new weapon that can kill more efficiently, we could concentrate on societal improvements! Real improvements, as a whole! Did you know that I’ve been experimenting on a design for a new, permanant implant . . . one that could radically change our lives?”
A permanant implant? How repulsive! Permanantly make us vertebrates? T’Kiarlok cynically thought as his hormones quickly dissipated. He then openly groused: “If the Neords had their way, why would we even need an implant? After all, they’d make us peaceloving mollusks, bereft of any passion for advancement and improvement. We wouldn’t have to go onto the land. We’d just float around in the brine all cycle long, debating whether ichthys hunts should be allowed! And we’d have no reason to fight for our survival or strike out for new territory!”
“On the contrary, T’kia . . . it could make exploration so much more exciting,” X’Singlok’s words grew impassioned. “We could spend even more time on other planets, not fighting and beating other species into oblivion, but fully interracting with them! We could meet others on equal terms, without the incumberence of the old stick. Just think of all the technology we could exchange!”
“Sometimes I wonder if you mantieras spend so much time couped up in laboratories with b,neal herb that you’ve lost all sense of reality!” T’Kiarlok mumbled under his breath.
“That is very myopic, T’Kiarlok!” X’Singlok hurled back, indignant. “Perhaps if you sent more time on Egnaro, YOU would have a better sense of what reality is!”
“On the contrary, X’Sin, I think I have a well-honed sense of reality! Can’t you see that the minor riots here are a result of Neords trying to upset the balance of life! Don’t be blind to all the progress we’ve made in the past hundred cycles, which need I remind you, has been a direct benefit of our agressive nature!”
“But isn’t that precisely what the problem is? We are not thinking about what we need to do here on Egnaro. The Council is continually thinking about conquering some new planet or star system to get what we need! Gheng, we don’t have a council to deal with soley domestic issues! The Eighth Council is always talking about what’s out there! Well, what about the problems here? Why are we running from them and taking on new . . . “
Sometimes I wish I didn’t get involved with an intelligent female, T’Kiarlok drifted away, letting X’Singlok philosophize. At least then, I wouldn’t get involved in deep conversations when all I want to do is enjoy some time off.
“I’m weary, X’Sin,” T’Kiarlok disparagingly noted. “Perhaps we could continue this conversation some time later . . . when I’m not so exhausted?”
“Why is it that everytime I try to bring up this topic, you feign away?” X’Singlok badgered, catching up with T’Kiarlok.
T’Kiarlok felt his blood pressure surge. His cephalus felt so hot he thought water would boil from his skin.
“Why? I’ll tell you why! On my last mission, just ten cycles ago, I was threatened by a Neord! And you know, I had no idea she was even there! Only T’Urilok knows whether our casualties were as a result of some mutiny she plotted. And five nestars ago I was almost killed in another mutiny at Alpheecca! The Deposition judgement was that Neords were involved there too. On top of that, some of my soldiers are even starting to question my authority! And not just new ones, either. Old ones! Good comrades! That, X’sin, is frightening! It’s frightening because I don’t know whether I can even trust those who are assigned to me anymore!”
T’Kiarlok glared at X’Singlok with fire in his eyes. He gulped two mouthfuls of water and drained as much oxygen from his gills as he could, but his blood vessels had constricted too much to even allow partial exchange.
“Let me reset the venue,” T’Kiarlok emphatically noted, raising his sagittal to accent his point. “How far do you think you could procede on your experiments if you had to look over your mantle every sub-cycle, wondering if your nestars of work might be dashed at a moment’s notice by sabotage?”
Silent, X’Singlok stared at T’Kiarlokk’s flailing rage.
“And as for the future? Take some time to think about what happens to warriors like me, born and bred to fight? What place is there in a Neord society for a cephalopod like me. A cephalopod which they would consider a blood-thirsty savage?”
X’Singlok feigned away sheepishly.
“There is none!” T’Kiarlok flailed his tetras angrily.
“You’re right, T’kia. Perhaps this is not the right time to talk about this,” X’Singlok assuaged, apologetically.
“Yes, it’s not,” T’Kiarlok vented a large gas bubble, then violently thrashed through it with his tetras until only a froth remained. “And as far as I’m concerned, there will never be the right time to talk about this!”
T’Kiarlok spun and snapped his tetras together, jetting out into deeper water. X’Singlok quietly remained surrounded by the bright blue algae, watching T’Kiarlok swim farther and farther away. The chilling thought of never seeing him again seeped into her ganglia.
