Split-Second Decision

He'dtaalh's long legs ate up the distance between the cage and their ship. What should have easily taken them three catawr to get to only took half the time.

Well, it took half the time for him and Ba'dqeel. Vi'dta and Nai'dqa had hung back, their pace nowhere near as fast as the other two Nycteromys.

Technically, He'dtaalh and Ba'dqeel should have remained by the prince's side, but neither male cared about the proper protocol when their female could very well be dying. And if the Kallutan was wrong about her species, the longer they kept her out of water, the worse it would be for her.

Pulling out the same communication device he had used to contact the Rien, Ba'dqeel barked out a bunch of commands as the two men boarded a smaller silver runner meant to transport beings from the much larger ships to the planet's surface.

There was a smaller Nycteromys waiting in the pilot's seat, his light green markings and two smaller horns indicating his experience flying. He was one of the best, which was why Ba'dqeel had poached him from his brother's air force and over to his own.

"Get us to The Retribution," hissed Ba'dqeel as He'dtaalh went straight to one of the comfortable chairs in the common room. The thing was massive, a perfect size for someone of his height and mass, but there was no way it would be safe for his female.

"What about the heir and Nai'dqa?" asked the pilot, never once shifting his gaze from the window in front of him. The fact that they were ignoring the Crown Prince in favor of the female he could scent meant that they considered the female to be important.

And that didn't bode well for anyone.

"They'll catch the next runner," shrugged Ba'dqeel as he went straight to the seat next to He'dtaalh. Placing a hand as gently as possible on the hirini's legs, he let out a soft sigh when he felt her blood coursing through the limb. "Leave, now," he continued with a snarl.

Without another word, the pilot took off, hoping that he wasn't going to be the one taking shit for leaving the Hier planet side.

As the runner hurtled through the vast expanse of space, He'dtaalh's grip tightened around his female. It was not so hard that he worried about damaging her delicate skin, but tight enough that he could assure himself that she continued to live.

Her breathing was so shallow that, even with his excellent hearing, he could barely make out when each breath passed her lips. The common room was eerily quiet, and both males stared at the female.

"Do you think they can help her?" asked He'dtaalh again, looking at the older male for reassurance.

Ba'dqeel remained quiet, his eyes narrowing as he thought through his answer. "I don't know," he said again. "I have never heard of a species called 'human', let alone seen one. But I also don't think that the Sky Lord is so cruel as to bring her to us only to take her away again."

He'dtaalh's eyes narrowed as he stared down Ba'dqeel, the younger Nycteromys no longer looking at the older one as a source of comfort. "You know what she is?" he asked.

The idea of mates hadn't been spoken of for over a thousand years, and those Nycteromys finding their perfect mates hadn't occurred long before then. He'dtaalh, interested in battles and history, had read a few books with the concept of mates written in them, only in reference to the number of wars fought over them.

When it was determined that the males of their species were too volatile with a mate, the female was quickly killed off, resulting in a plunging number of females. Within ten planetary rotations, the number of females being born was almost non-existent.

Luckily for the Nycteromys, they were a long-lived race, capable of a life span numbering in the tens of thousands of rotations. This gave their scientists enough time to create birthing chambers, where an infant was created inside a lab and incubated there until it was time for him to be born.

However, no matter how many times the scientists tried to recreate a female, she always died in incubation.

The more suspicious members of the Nycteromys Empire believed that it was a sign that the Sky Lord was angry with them. But it was too late; the damage was done. Their mates had been killed, and they were never coming back.

Until now.

The ironic part was that the Nycteromys' never stopped their wars, only turned their attention to other sources. Their females were never the cause of the wars, just an easy excuse for them.

Ba'dqeel ignored He'dtaalh as he fingered his pocketknife. The sharp blade might be able to remove the heads of lesser species, but it would barely count as a paper cut to him.

However, he was right to be concerned.

Looking at the male at the helm, he wondered just how much he really needed the best pilot in their Empire. Surely, there were other species who could do just as good a job.

"Tu'sub," grunted Ba'dqeel, bringing the pilot to He'dtaalh's attention. "Do you like working for me?"

"Sire?" sputtered Tu'sub, his face turning a whiteish shade of grey. He wanted to turn around and look at his hero, the male he considered to be the best example of what it meant to be Nycteromys, but he knew that what happened next would determine his life and death.

"Do you like working for me?" repeated Ba'dqeel, cocking his head to the side. "Think carefully about your answer."

"I don't need to think about it. Being your pilot has always been my goal in life since you once gave a talk at my education center about the importance of having a good pilot at your back," answered Tu'sub. They were coming up to the main ship, and he didn't know if he should slow down so that they could continue their conversation or continue their speed and get the female to where she needed to be.

Making the split-second decision, he sped up.

"You didn't slow down," nodded Ba'dqeel. He might as well have said that the sky was red; he was that calm, but Tu'sub managed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"No, Sire. We'll be docking in a matter of clicks," nodded the pilot as a large hanger door opened, revealing the Ambassador's private docking station.

"Send one of the other pilots to get the Heir and Nai'dqa," grunted Ba'dqeel as he undid his seatbelt and reached down for the hirini. "Congratulations, Tu'sub. You are officially my personal pilot. You no longer answer to the military, the Heir, or the Rein. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sire," bowed Tu'sub as soon as the runner gracefully landed on the metal deck of the docking bay. "And thank you."