Rykhan (Book 1 of Mate Search Series) (3 page)

Leah shot a glance behind her to check out the
sagging seat of the trousers. “Let’s try a ten.”

“Damn, girl,” Pam chuffed. “You’ve lost four
sizes in six months?”

Flicking her newly layered auburn hair over her
shoulder, Leah felt the blush heat her chest before traveling up
her neck. Instead of succumbing to her embarrassment, she threw the
door open wider and turned so that her ass pointed at her friend to
emphasize her original request. “I need a smaller size.”

“Oh hell yeah, you do!” Pam bounced a palm off
the doorway and shifted the pile of clothes draped over one arm.
“Damn, girl. You weren’t kidding when you said heartbreak is the
best diet in the world.”

Leah felt her grin fade. Yes, those had been
her words when she had discovered she had been steadily losing
weight from her lack of appetite, only remembering to eat when she
felt weak or nauseous.

Which she knew was only one of the outcomes of
her breakup. A direct result of when Tony had told her she was
simply unacceptable as his girlfriend and possible wife. ‘You know
my goals, Leah. I want to be a senator just like my dad.’ His
measured voice, each word cutting her deep, explained why he could
not see her any longer. ‘And I need a wife who can look the part.
But, you’re just…’ Leah remembered the rake of his gaze and the
accompanying hand-sweep that went from the crown of her head down
to her toes. ‘…too big.’

His words scoring themselves across her heart
and dogging her every waking minute for the first year after their
breakup.

Leah swallowed deeply as she straightened. “I
got his wedding invitation in yesterday’s mail.”

Pam sighed and shook her head so hard her
blonde curls swished against her neck. “Me too, although why the
rat-bastard thought it was cool to do so boggles the mind.” She
glanced up at her tall best friend. “And for the freaking record?
No. We are not going.”

“I hadn’t planned on it!”

Pam narrowed her eyes as she studied Leah.
“Calling bullshit on that, girlie.”

“I’m not! Why would I even consider it?” Leah’s
tone gave her thoughts away since it held a note of studied
disbelief instead of something along the lines of what was true.
The fact that Leah flung her head while finger combing her bangs
just proved Pam right. She wanted to go if only to satisfy her
curiosity of the woman her ex had found oh-so very
‘acceptable’.

Pam rolled her eyes, allowing her friend’s
outright lie. “So I need to go back out there and grab all this
shit in a size ten? Or should I grab some eights just to be on the
safe side?”

Leah exhaled and accepted the truce Pam
offered. “Yeah, let’s try both.”

The smaller woman beamed and Leah’s heart
settled. Pam could be pushy, a little too zealous in ramming her
brand of realism into Leah’s world, but she was a loyal friend and
knew when to curb her enthusiasm.

“Be right back, honey.”

Leah cast another glance over her shoulder at
all the material that furled around her much smaller bottom. Her
mind wasn’t on the trousers or even her ass.

It was questioning the small trickle of hope
settling inside her heart.

For absolutely no reason, no reason at
all.

*.*.*.*.*

Bronsyn stood outside the president’s personal
space and swallowed in an attempt to wet his severely dry throat.
He had scrambled to reduce the two hundred and seventy thousand
candidates into a list of only six warriors for the first search.
Along with the starship’s crew and his warriors, that made a group
of fourteen, not including medical personnel. However, he knew the
sole responsibility, the crushing weight of securing viable brides,
would rest on him and the first group’s shoulders alone. The
overall plan as he knew it spoke of more waves, a second or even a
third set of warriors given the opportunity to join with human
females residing on the far distant blue planet. Six was such a
small number when compared with their overwhelming need.

Passing his hand over the field of the
doorway’s panel, a two-note chime announced his presence. As he
waited, Bronsyn, straightened his robes and shook his long hair in
an effort to appear presentable.

“Enter.” President Allwyne’s voice came through
on a tinny note in the speaker of the multi-functional panel. As
the entry portal opened, Bron steeled himself with an indrawn
breath that he held deep inside his lungs. Stepping over the
threshold, he caught sight of the other man. Built tall and broad,
Bronsyn did not have a doubt that the political leader had once
been a warrior of the Picari Protectorate, although the other man’s
white hair attested to his age.

Nonetheless, everyone knew the outward
appearance of a warrior never reflected the strength of the man
within.

“Former General Bronsyn Llent reporting, sir,”
Bron barked, holding himself in the pose required of all warriors
within the Picari militia. The only thing missing was a salute but
since Bronsyn had retired from the military, it was not
expected.

“Frack
,
Bron. At ease,” the president’s voice called and Bron’s moved over
the room noting while it was not opulent, it was not austere
either. “This is a meeting between Heralds, co-commanders if you
will but nothing to do with our former occupations.
Byze-wad
shots okay with
you?”

Bronsyn nodded. Having only known of his
supreme commander within the different ranks of the Protectorate,
the casual elegance of the man before him was shocking. Eyeing the
purple liquid in the glass offered to him, Bron waited. It would
have been in bad taste to raise his glass to his lips prior to
Allwyne’s toast.

“To a successful mission,” the president
offered with a wide smile.

“To our success, your eminence.” Bron lightly
touched his glass to the other and drank the potent alcohol down in
one gulp. The liquid heated as it hit his throat and stomach,
easing his nervousness at being one-on-one with the supreme leader
of all of Galaxia.

Waving a hand towards a table tucked into a
corner, Bronsyn took the nearest chair as Allwyne sat across from
him. “I have the list as requested, sir.”

“Good, good,” the president responded, rubbing
his hands together in anticipation. “Let’s see who you and Council
member Strege have chosen.”

Bron pulled up the list of candidates from his
portable communications device and clicked an icon to allow for
holographic imaging. “Per the guidelines, all potential candidates
are between the ages of twenty-seven and thirty-five, in perfect
health, not legally paired with another male and have sufficient
income/assets in order to provide for his bride.”

Allwyne’s eyes connected with Bron’s as he
nodded his agreement. The strictures in the Herald meeting just
after Ater and Castaic’s refusal to allow the Picari Alliance to
fund the quest were clear. “Go on,” the older public official
encouraged as he turned his eyes to the list hovering above the
tabletop.

“With the rules, it reduced the original
applicants from over five hundred thousand to only two hundred and
seventy thousand between Galaxia and Nutrol.” The sheer number of
men who wanting to be a part of the first quest, exploratory or
not, had shocked Bronsyn. “We then streamlined the list further by
accessing the applicant’s service records, personality tests, and
personal interviews.”

“Did it help?”

“Yes sir, it did.” Bron swallowed remembering
the hours he spent sorting and then reviewing the information on
each man. “But it only cut the list to five thousand, three hundred
males.”

Allwyne sat back in his chair,
looking stunned. “Five thousand? By
Tsiran’s
beard, that’s
still…”

“Too many.” Bronsyn completed his president’s
sentence without thinking. “For this first, the most important,
mission anyway.” He hesitated, trying to think of the best way to
explain the next step taken to further lessen the list. It had, in
his opinion, been one of chance instead one that was based on a
warrior’s integrity, honesty and valor. “In order to decrease it
further, we employed a lottery.”

The older man’s eyes moved swiftly
from the holograph to Bron. “A lottery? You used a
fracking
lottery to
choose the first team?”

On one hand, it was comforting to
know that the president disapproved of the use of randomness, the
luck of the draw so to speak, in order to find the most suitable
candidates. But Bronsyn and Gwynt, along with their team of
advisors had no other choice. Not on such short notice−not when
their quest was in less than a
wert
.

“Yes sir,” was all Bron could reply.
“The warriors chosen from Galaxia are Rykhan Nillr, Arbrynt Llow,
and Tyshar Rell.” His finger moved and soon the image changed from
a lengthy list to pictures of the three men randomly selected from
Bronsyn’s home world. He gave his leader time to study both the
three dimensional holos of the warriors and their dossiers. Even
though the president’s schedule was full, the elder statesman took
the time to read everything their files contained.

Bron waited, offering no comment allowing
Allwyne to scrutinize each document.

Breaking the lengthy silence, the president
stood up and stretched. “Another round before we review the
Nutrolites?”

“None for me, sir. I need to keep a clear head
if I’m to meet with the warriors later.” Bronsyn shivered
anticipation, and sensed a increase in both his breathing and his
heartbeats at his own words. He had almost forgotten that he was to
be a part of the men who would be journeying while recounting the
candidates and the selection process to his Herald
leader!

“Did Stege and his team follow the same
protocol in selecting?” Allwyne brought his small glass with him as
he rejoined Bron at the table.

“Yes, exactly the same.” Using a finger to
swipe the Galaxian warrior information aside, Bron called up the
list of Nutrolites chosen to participate in the quest. “Council
member Strege supplied the information on the three candidates from
Nutrol. They are: Gyard Trag, Laxon Satyl, and Wyst
Marnd.”

The president took just as long to peruse the
other Protectorate’s information as he had the Galaxian warriors.
Once space travel was established, the two planets enjoyed a
friendly, easy association based on mutual trust and loyalty rather
than simple proximity.

Sighing, Allwyne eased back in his chair before
emptying his drink. “I think you, Gwynt Strege, and your teams have
done admirably well even if you had to have the computer make the
final choices randomly.” Setting the glass to one side, the
president rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers.
“Now it will be up to the joint Gal-Trol Committee to determine the
specifics of your actual mission.”

Bron felt his eyebrows squeeze together. “You
mean there’s nothing already in place?”

The side-to-side movement of his president’s
head created a tightening in Bronsyn’s stomach. “Nothing concrete.
Frankly, all focus has been on adapting a starship large enough to
accommodate both your men and the supplies needed for your journey.
We had just realized the scope of what we still needed based on the
information from our drone. In light of what it has relayed back
from this ‘Earth’, we’re going to have to re-think a lot of our
original plans.”

“For instance?” Bron’s mind was racing. What
kind of new data had changed the mission’s parameters?

President Allwyne sighed and pressed his palms
flat against the tabletop. “For one, none of the reports downloaded
were in Galaxian, Nutrol, or even in the more formal Picari
language. So it will be up to you, the crew, and the warriors to
learn to speak the planet’s language before you land.”

Bronsyn blurted his next question without
thinking. “How long is our anticipated journey?”

“According to our team of
scientists, approximately six
merts
.”

“Six
merts
? That’s a ridiculously short
time in order to become fluent in an alien language much less all
the slang and nuances they are sure to use in their daily speech,”
Bron warned and wondered if his appointment as leader of the quest
was as much of a boon as he’d previously considered it to
be.

“Agreed. Additionally, there are concerns about
a future bride’s willingness in leaving her home world and settle
into life on Galaxia or Nutrol. From what we’ve seen of our first
glimpses of this ‘internet’ which their world uses to communicate,
Earth is a planet where the connection of family and friends is
paramount to their species happiness.” The white-haired man watched
Bronsyn closely for a reaction to his next words. “And they have
yet to achieve our same levels in the areas of technology,
manufacturing, farming, or animal husbandry.”

Bron found his mouth was dry and tried to
swallow before asking, “Earth is a backward planet? Like Castaic,
then?”

“That is still being researched.
Because we are still in the process of sorting through all the data
we are accumulating, we have not fully made any solid decisions.
Obviously we will, need to stay in constant communication with
the
Searcher
to
keep you apprised of our findings and any additional revisions as
the mission progresses.”