The Covlax Deception: Part 3
My crewmate’s description of the ravaged planet of Renmig had me anticipating something like Vas Roya: blistering heat, sand-scorched and time-buried. As we lined up to walk down the gangway of the Killer Qu’een, my crewmates and I donned sunglasses and jackets to protect our eyes and skin from the elements.
But Renmig was nothing like Vas Roya. Mostly because there was nothing there.
The lukewarm sun cast a sickly green pallor across the barren, ash-gray landscape. A few stubborn yellow weeds poking up through cracks in jagged stone were the only show of native life remaining on the planet. A hundred yards from us was the lethal outline of the Covlax ship, and, at the apex of the triangle formed by our positions, the glass and metal negotiation compound rose incongruously from the rocky terrain.
“Holy shit, you weren’t kidding about the ruined part,” I said, taking my first step onto the foreign planet. I coughed on my first inhalation of the acrid air.
Wait to speak until we are inside the compound. The air is breathable, but inhaling too many dust particles is dangerous, Azo’lah’s message flashed across my mind. She reached around Fleetwood and yanked my bandana up my throat to cover my nose and mouth.
“Here come the Covlax,” Matt said, voice muffled by the scarf obscuring his face.
Across the field, a single, gleaming banner fluttered. Its jet-black background was stark against the charred landscape. It was carried by one of the five female guards that accompanied the Covlax Vic. Clouds of dust rose from their boots as they made their way toward us.
Fleetwood nodded. The amber gems on the circlet she wore only for official diplomatic business winked in the frail light. She strode forward, her split front skirt, as bubble gum pink as the lenses of her aviator sunglasses, trailing along the dry earth. We fell into step behind her, our three Myax guards positioning themselves at our backs. Milyna was the only member of our party not present—she had elected to stay up in orbit with The Gold Dust Wo’man in case negotiations went sideways and we needed to make a hasty escape.
It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to meet Vic Mey-ran and his contingent in the middle. Perhaps it was because it was hard to demarcate distance when there was no scenery to guide you.
Fleetwood stopped ten feet from Mey-ran. In unison, like one of those weird mirroring exercises I’d been forced to endure in high school theater, they raised their arms to shoulder height, their palms open. They turned them backward and forward to demonstrate they held no weapons. Then, slowly, Mey-ran reached for the dagger sheathed on his forearm and withdrew it. With the same agonizing deliberation, Fleetwood pulled her customary dagger from its sheath on her thigh. Both held them at arm's length and, with an air of great ceremony, threw them point down where they embedded themselves in the craggy earth. Slowly, Matt and Azo’lah followed the same sequence, first showing their hands, then removing their weapons and tossing them down. Chester and I, who apparently missed the ‘bring your weapons to the negotiation’ memo, only displayed our hands.
Fleetwood and Mey-ran turned and, shoulder to shoulder led us toward the entrance to the gleaming negotiation compound. The Vic’s guards and our Myax escort, both of which had retained their weapons, remained behind.
As soon as we passed through the compound’s glass door, it sealed seamlessly behind us.
“It’s made from the same material the Covlax use for the viewports on their ships,” Chester murmured to me. “It’s one of the toughest materials in the known galaxy. The clearer the glass, the more impenetrable it is.”
He pushed against the door as though testing the veracity of his own statement.
“Indeed, Chester.” Mey-ran sounded far too delighted for being trapped in an impenetrable box with five strangers. Mey-ran gestured inside. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
The room was huge, with thick glass walls on either side. A low table surrounded by cushions sat on a plush rug. There was an opaque door directly across from the entrance, which I assumed led to a kitchen, bathrooms, and a sleeping hall. In the little information I could find about Covlax negotiations, I learned they sometimes lasted months. No one was allowed to leave the compound until terms were agreed upon or the negotiations were considered forfeit.
Fleetwood settled onto one of the overstuffed cushions gracefully, her skirt a perfect, pink crescent around her. As Azo’lah took her spot beside her, Fleetwood removed her sunglasses, folded them neatly, and set them on the table in front of her.
Looking at the cousins’ matching stern faces, waiting for us to join them, I couldn’t help but remember my teenage years and coming home late to my parents sitting at the kitchen table, ready to scold me.
“I myself am parched,” Mey-ran announced, “if it’s alright, I shall fetch refreshment. Your Myax may come with me if you are concerned I may try something untoward.”
“It would be a discredit toward your reputation to do so, therefore I know you will not,” Fleetwood returned.
Mey-ran inclined his head gratefully before disappearing through the doorway and reappearing a moment later with a decanter and a tray of five glasses. “I regret that I did not anticipate so many attendees and am inadequately prepared.” Mey-ran distributed the filled glasses to us. “We are one glass short. Chester, perhaps you would like to sit next to me, and we could share?”
I shot Chester a look. We had both recently learned that sharing drinks on Destyr was a loaded practice. I wasn’t quite sure what all it signified besides the forging of a political alliance, but I was getting the impression that the Vic knew precisely what he was suggesting.
Chester hesitated, clearly torn between not wanting to offend Mey-ran and wanting to stay as close to Fleetwood as possible. In the end, he sat on Mey-ran’s side of the table, across from Fleetwood. “Thanks,” Chester said, reaching for Fleetwood’s glass, “but I’ll share with FleetMerc.”
Mey-ran looked crestfallen. Clearly, his opening gambit hadn’t played out the way he wanted. Though what he wanted exactly was still a mystery.
As Matt and I sat, Azo’lah put her undrunk cup down on the table with intentional force. At the sound, Mey-ran turned his gaze to Fleetwood and seemed to remember the purpose of our meeting. “Let us not waste valuable time. We each have something the other needs. A simple exchange of persons would render our problems solved.”
“Hold the phonograph.” Fleetwood held up a hand. “Forgive me, honored Vic, but the Central continent has never detained a Covlax citizen, so I am unaware of whom you speak.”
“You wish the return of Zerin of House Fuiq,” Mey-ran elaborated, “and owe a debt of honor to us for your attempted theft on J’olpri. I will give you the former and forgive the latter. All I ask is a life for a life. Zerin, and the restored honor of your house, in exchange for Chester.”
“Fuck no,” I blurted at top volume. Matt’s hand wrapped around my wrist with bruising strength.
Mey-ran regarded me coolly. “I am not negotiating with you, little thief.”
“Gretchen is not a thief, honored Vic. Cease referring to her as such.” It was the first time Azo’lah had spoken since we disembarked the ship. Mey-ran’s single, lethal tail quivered, shifting from where it had hovered inches above Chester’s shoulders, like a phantom arm, to point directly at Azo’lah. Perhaps an instinctive reaction to the quiet danger in her tone.
“She attempted to steal an item under my protection,” he said, “that makes her a thief.”
“And you agreed to guard an item that you knew was previously stolen!” I gripped the side of the table so hard my knuckles drained of all color. “In my book, that’s dishonorable.”
“We do not ask where the items come from,” Mey-ran responded.
“Perhaps you should, Your Highness,” I snapped. “The cloak is a precious Destyrian antiquity. It has priceless historical value to the people of Destyr and was wrongfully taken from a sacred temple by a descrator looking to turn a fucking profit. I was trying to return it to where it belongs. Not let it fall into the hands of a black market lowlife who has no idea how to conserve it. I am an archaeologist, not a thief.”
A ringing silence fell. I stared into Mey-ran’s calculating, golden eyes, unwilling to blink.
“I will admit, Gretchen,” Mey-ran said after a moment, “that your idea has merit. Perhaps my people should be more discerning when it comes to what we are willing to guard. I know how devastated our scholars would be were we to lose an artifact of such worth. I will take it under consideration and bring it before the Vicerenne.”
I blinked slowly, taken aback by his agreement. “Uh, good. See that you do.”
Damn girl, Chester mouthed at me from across the table.
Mey-ran said, “In light of Gretchen’s sound reasoning, I hereby dismiss your debt of honor from the J’olpri incident. For the remaining matter, are my terms acceptable?”
“To quote Gretchen’s other salient point,” Fleetwood said, “fuck no. Chester is not a bargaining pringle. The royal family is prepared to provide compensation for Zerin’s poor judgment in the form of sweet-ass cash money and trade agreements.”
Mey-ran’s tail swished irritatedly across the ground. “I am uninterested in that form of compensation. I can assure you, Chester would lack for nothing and would, as he does on Destyr, enjoy all of the benefits being a member of my family provides.”
“Chester would like to be addressed concerning decisions for his future,” the topic of discussion said archly, taking a sip of his shared drink with Fleetwood while gazing at Mey-ran over the top of his glasses. “Let’s be real. I’m a minor player on the Destyrian scene and can’t offer you anything. So I want to know whose idea this trade was and why you’re pressing it so hard.”
“It was mine,” Mey-ran declared baldly. “And I believe we have much to offer each other, Chester Leon. Our first encounter showed you to be impressively intelligent. A scholar of your standing would be esteemed on Covlax and an asset to my household. You have already left behind your home planet for a different one, I do not foresee you having any difficulty making yourself similarly comfortable with me.” Mey-ran lifted Chester’s hand from the tabletop with both of his. The Covlax Vic reverently brought Chester’s captured hand to his teal cheek.
“Oookay.” Chester pulled his hand away, looking as creeped out as I felt. The second-hand discomfort I felt at the thought of a stranger doing that to me had me itching to disappear behind the safety wall of Matt and Azo’lah. If Mey-ran kept it up, I would have to take my anxiety meds on Chester’s behalf.
“I’m sure Covlax is lovely,” Chester said, discreetly tucking his hands in the pockets of his jacket out of Mey-ran’s reach, “but I chose to stay on Destyr. My friends are there. My work is there. Destyr is my home. I don’t want to leave it. Besides, I’m sort of bound to the Central continent’s princess.”
Mey-ran shot Fleetwood a look that any sane person would have shriveled up and died under. Fleetwood was maybe crazier than even I thought because she positively preened. “Yes, by an ancient and, to most civilized worlds, barbaric law that everyone thought had faded into history,” Mey-ran spat, “until the Fulyiti revived it. And I am beginning to expect she did so without explaining what you were agreeing to.”
Mey-ran’s tail quivered. Chester’s eyes narrowed. It felt like the final countdown before a round of Mortal Kombat.
“What exactly are you implying, Your Highness?” Chester asked slowly. His eyes widened as Mey-ran turned bodily to him and cradled his face in both of his massive hands. “Ummm…” Chester stammered.
Now kiss, my traitorous brain thought hysterically, taking in the admittedly pretty picture of the incredibly handsome Covlax Vic holding Chester like he was something precious.
“The Fulyiti is smarter than most give her credit for,” Mey-ran said, eyes pleading.
“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” Chester’s words were slightly squished by Mey-ran’s hands.
“She is more than capable of manipulating an unwitting human into a position he had no intention of taking. Even if you have yet to fulfill the expectations of your position, you have no protection or recourse should she change her mind—”
“Oh, bad move, mate,” Matt hissed quietly to my left.
Chester slapped Mey-ran’s hands away from his face, then shoved the Vic’s chest roughly, knocking him backward.
Caught off-guard, Mey-ran sprawled off his cushion and onto the floor. He blinked up at Chester, just as shocked as the rest of us that Chester had gotten the drop on him. Clearly, all of Chester’s training with Fleetwood was paying off. He pointed a threatening finger at Mey-ran. “You say one more word about my best friend, and I swear to God they’re going to have to Windex the walls of this place for weeks to get rid of the mess I’ll make of you.”
For a second, I thought someone had turned a spotlight on Mey-ran, but then I realized it wasn’t an external light source. Mey-ran’s eyes were blown wide, and a soft glow was emanating from beneath his teal skin like fireflies had decided to colonize his cheekbones.
“Oh, you can light yourself up like a gay bar glowstick, but I’m not gonna let my curiosity at your apparent bioluminescence get in the way of my righteous anger,” Chester snarled as he hopped to his feet. “Once we got past the mix-up regarding my initial beam up, Fleetwood has always been honest with me. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into by becoming her Favored. I’m not exactly sure what you’re up to, but I will figure it out. And in the meantime, you can send an armada after me, and I’ll still choose Fleetwood every time, even if it means I’ll spend the rest of my life running from your teal-tailed ass.” He stalked toward where the glass barrier had dissolved when we had entered. “Unless you have something real to bring to the table, I think we are done here.”
In an impressive show of team synergy, the rest of us rose and followed. Fleetwood looked simultaneously smug and teary-eyed.
Mey-ran, still sprawled across the floor, said quietly, “I still have Zerin. I will retain him until you seriously consider my offer, perhaps indefinitely.”
Beside me, Azo’lah stiffened, but Chester was already turning. “I’ve never seen your planet. How am I supposed to seriously consider an offer to uproot my life to a place I’ve never been?” If I hadn’t been standing so close, I would have missed Fleetwood’s short, sharp inhalation.
“What do you propose?” Mey-ran asked, scrambling to his feet. He looked almost as thrown by Chester’s abrupt change of mood as I was.
“I propose that you open this door. Then, we both go to our ships and start making the necessary arrangements.”
“Do you mean?” Mey-ran’s tail quirked like a sentient question mark over his back.
Chester toyed with the zipper on his jacket as he said, “You have one Earth week to show off your planet. The science better be as sexy as the people, or so help me God. You have a day to send me the itinerary so I can choose my sneakers accordingly. I also like good food and good music.” Although Mey-ran was no longer actually glowing, he might as well have been from the radiant joy on his face. Chester raised both eyebrows. “Well, are you going to open this door or what? I have to make sure my experiments are properly monitored while I’m away, or I’m not coming.”
“Oh, you’ll be coming,” Mey-ran breathed. I had to stifle a very mature snort behind my hand, fairly certain the Vic hadn’t meant the double entendre. He looked between Fleetwood and Chester as he said, “I agree to your terms. We will postpone further negotiations until Chester has had the opportunity to experience the riches Covlax has to offer.”
“Agreed,” Fleetwood said.
At Mey-ran’s command, the door slid open to admit ash-soaked air. As I tugged my bandana up over my nose, Fleetwood wrapped one arm around Chester’s shoulders and ducked close to him, murmuring, “Masterfully done, my love, just what we needed.”
The quick return flight from Renmig to The Gold Dust Wo’man was tense and quiet. Anytime I opened my mouth to speak, something in Azo’lah’s eyes had me thinking better of it. While I didn’t completely understand Fleetwood’s enthusiasm at having Chester spend a week with Mey-ran, I trusted her assessment of the situation and Chester’s safety. I also trusted Chester’s boundless intelligence—even if going to Covlax sounded borderline insane to me, I knew he had considered it from all angles.
Matt landed smoothly in the landing bay of The Gold Dust Wo’man, and the massive bay doors closed to the tune of the guitar riff Fleetwood was humming. Azo’lah stomped off the Killer Qu’een, Fleetwood skipping out the door after her. Distracted by what he was reading on his Ran’dyl, Chester tripped into our Myax guards’ backs upon his exit.
Matt and I were the last to leave the aircraft. He met my eyes and tilted his head meaningfully.
“It’ll be fine,” I offered even though we both knew that it probably wouldn’t be.
“Welcome back,” Milyna greeted from the entrance to the landing bay as our Myax guard swiftly passed by her and disappeared into the bowels of the ship. She peered from face to face, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out what happened from our expressions alone. “How did it go?”
“Greetings, sister,” Azo’lah said curtly. “Will you please join our Myax sisters in preparation for entrance into hostile territory. We make way for Covlax.”
Milyna’s back straightened. “Covlax? We’re going to Covlax?”
“We aren’t going to Covlax,” Chester replied. “I am going to Covlax.”
Azo’lah pressed, “Please, Milyna.”
After a long beat, Milyna nodded and left us in the same tense, silence as before. I hated this return to awkwardness with my friends. I had grown so used to their easy acceptance and familial ribbing that I had almost forgotten how truly uncomfortable I could be socially.
Finally, Azo’lah cleared her throat and said, “I had hoped it could be avoided, but after today’s disastrous negotiations, it is clear I am left with no choice. I will challenge Vic Mey-ran to single-combat. Whoever survives gets to keep Zerin.”
Matt let out a low whistle. “Here we go.”
“I’m sorry, but what?” I spluttered, panicking. I turned to Fleetwood and Chester. “Whoever survives. Are you suggesting combat to the death? That’s a thing up here in space?”
“Certainly,” Fleetwood replied. “But it is unnecessary, Azo’lah. Chester’s genius not only got us off of Renmig alive, it has also bought us time.”
“Got us off alive?” I echoed. “There was a chance we weren’t going to leave alive?”
Fleetwood continued. “While Chester distracts the Vic—”
“If we send him to the Vic, we will never see Chester or Zerin again,” Azo’lah spat.
“Yes, you will,” Chester said, “because I’m not just some pawn in this alien chess match. I’m going under Mey-ran’s protection. I’ll gather more intel on the Covlax and possibly where Zerin is being hidden. Once I’m back, we’ll formulate a plan.”
Azo’lah shook her head sadly. “Chester, you are quite intelligent. You must know that if you go, Mey-ran will never send you back willingly.”
“He won’t take me hostage,” Chester argued. “I’m Fulyiti Fleetwood’s Favored and a member of the House of Fuiq.”
“As is Zerin, and that did not stop Vic Mey-ran from taking him,” Azo’lah pointed out.
“I don’t like the idea of Chester going to Covlax unprotected any more than you do, Azo’lah,” Matt said. “But you challenging the crown heir to Vicerenne Tov-ri in single-combat to the death could trigger a war between Destyr and Covlax.”
“Single-combat is an honorable death,” Azo’lah replied. “The Covlax will not go to war if their Vic dies with dignity.”
“Azo’lah.” Fleetwood’s voice was as unyielding as steel. “Do you hear yourself? This is nonsense.”
“No, Fulyiti, I am the only one who is speaking sense,” Azo’lah said, her eyes wide and wild. “You all want to take unnecessary risks. No, I will protect Chester. I will protect you all. Challenging the Vic is the safest way to get Zerin back. None of you will change my mind.”
Azo’lah stalked out of the landing bay, leaving us in astonished silence.
I gaped at where she stood only moments prior. “This is batshit.”
“There’s no way this ends well,” Matt said. “The Covlax honor single-combat results, but they will absolutely attack Destyr if Azo’lah kills their only Vic. And if Mey-ran were to win—”
“I would obliterate Covlax myself,” Fleetwood finished for him.
“I don’t understand why she doesn’t trust my plan,” Chester said, scratching at his ear. I detected a note of hurt in his tone. “She usually trusts me.”
Fleetwood enfolded him in her arms, her pink skirts swirling around his legs. “It is not a reflection on you or your brilliance, beloved. It is Azo’lah’s darkness. She is in a place where she believes she must protect all of us at whatever cost, otherwise she will have let us down.”
Chester sagged against Fleetwood. “I love her, but goddamn, that is stupid.”
“We aren’t going to let her do it, right?” I asked, looking to all of my friends for confirmation.
Matt snorted. “Of course not.”
“I should go look up the rules and regulations of intergalactic duels.” Chester pulled away from Fleetwood. He straightened his glasses as he said, “Maybe there’s a precedent for a less deadly outcome?”
“Good luck,” I said. He rushed away, his attention already on his Ran’dyl.
Once he had disappeared, Fleetwood looked at us and said, “Matty-Matt, dearest Gret’chen, I have an idea.”
“I’m in,” Matt said with a sharp smile.
“It’s dangerous,” Fleetwood continued, pulling her sunglasses from where she had folded them against the collar of her shirt. Her pink aviators reflected the amber lights of the landing bay as she put them on. “It is also possibly crazy-banana-pants. The others would not approve.”
“I already said I’m in,” Matt said. He turned to me. “What about you, Gretch?”
I looked at them both, Fleetwood in her outrageous outfit and Matt in his spacesuit. I thought of Chester already rigorously researching. I thought of Azo’lah. Azo’lah and her darkness, and her protective streak a mile wide, and her sarcastic smile.
Dangerous and possibly crazy-banana-pants?
I met Matt’s smile with one of my own. “Hell yeah, I’m in.”