Page 22 of Infala: Bonded to the Enemy
“That was his name, yeah.”
The man furrowed his brow. “I have heard of him.”
“He has a reputation?”
“Only for being the rarest of Dohrag officers. As a half-breed, ascending in rank as he did is nearly impossible.”
“They don’t like mixed-race people?”
“Dohrags don’t likeanyone, but if one parent is full-blooded Dohrag, the offspring is afforded the opportunity to advance in status. But this is not typically a planned event. More an accidental birth when a prisoner opts to mate with their captor. It is unusual, but not entirely unheard of. The choice would be a difficult one, but one that would afford the woman a bit of protection, belonging to just one male like that.”
“But half-breeds could go both ways. Why couldn’t his mother be the Dohrag?”
Yarro let out a sad laugh. “Oh, my dear. Dohrag women only mate with Dohrag men, but Dohrag men will fornicate with any female they can get their hands on. But as their life away from their home planet is often one of romantic scarcity, a rare few opt to properly claim a mate while away from their homeworld, though it is only done to keep the female to themselves.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It is. And this Commander Valin is the unlucky product of such a union. As I said, almost surely a survival decision by his mother. But whatever the circumstances, he is only half Dohrag. It sounds as though he takes after his mother in the looks department, from what you say, but the other half is still Dohrag, and rumor has it he is known to be a particularly brutal sort. Of course, for a non-pure Dohrag to reach such a high rank, he would have to be.”
“But it’s just a shipping and supply hub, right?”
“It notjusta supply hub. The commander’s position is one ofgreat importance, no matter what others may say. Without proper logistics, the fleet would go hungry, and we all know, a military marches on its stomach.”
Shalia thought back to the massive alien she’d been so rudely introduced to on her arrival upon this world. Her fingers absentmindedly scratched at the symbol on her collarbone.
Yarro leaned closer and studied the man’s handiwork once more. “I must say, regardless of his lineage and upbringing, the man’s skill with pigment is quite impressive.”
“For a brute, you mean.”
“For anyone,” he replied, gently prodding the marking on her collarbone. “Yes, yes, I see what he did here. Mostly, at least. Yes. This is quite unusual. Not the marking itself—that is your typical Dohrag style, full of machismo and braggadocio in claiming their prizes for all to see. But the pigment he created for his own personalized version of the marking is a unique variety and is quite cleverly made. It is normally not done like this, and I can sense that some of the plants he extracted pigment from are not from this world. Most unusual, indeed.”
“Is it a problem? I mean, now that you’re going to be using normal ink on me?”
“Pigment. And no, it should pose no significant problems. In fact, I will connect it with your overall rune pattern. In this way, the strength of the new pigment I will be using on you can have access to it.”
“What does that even mean?”
“The connecting lines allow our runes to interact with our entire being. They are not just standalone markings, but symbiotic. And once I connect this Dohrag symbol with the proper Dotharian runes, I am confident the Dohrag mark will be overtaken and dissolved by the more powerful pigments we have created onmyworld.”
Shalia marveled at the whole rune system. A common set of markings required on all citizens across the galaxy. It was fascinating.
“Why do the Dohrags even have markings if they’re more or less operating outside the rules?”
“Because the Dotharian Conglomerate, despite its vast and far-reaching power, is not all-knowing, nor all-seeing. And in this particular instance, the Dohrags may operate at the fringe, but they know better than to engage in outright sedition. And as their kind can never Infala bond, the Dotharians have more or less left it at that. Now, if you would please lay on your stomach, I will begin. We can discuss this further if you wish, but the sooner we start the process, the sooner you will finish.”
Shalia lay forward and took a deep breath. She’d never gotten a tattoo and had never really wanted one. It looked like that was about to change whether she liked it or not. At least she wasn’t Raxxian food, she reminded herself.
“Okay,” she said, exhaling long and slow, forcing the body to relax. “Let’s do this.”
12
Shalia spent the night carefully swaddled in a fluffy comforter nestled between pillows. Her makeshift one-woman pillow fort was her best idea to prevent herself from rolling around and making her new tattoos crack and ooze as they healed.
She needn’t have worried.
While her flesh was still quite tender, the pigments the Skrizzit had used were of such high grade that they actually accelerated the mending of her dermis almost as soon as he’d finished applying the markings. Given the sheer quantity of them that she had received—runes now sat on key areas of her body from head to toe, connected by graceful, flowing lines—that was a good thing.
She dressed in loose-fitting attire given to her for her recovery. Softer material that would not chafe was the ideal choice, and the elders had made sure she was well taken care of. When she ventured out for a late breakfast, she also found a delightful spread had been put aside for her. A “welcome to the Dotharian Conglomerate” meal of sorts. One she tucked away with gusto.
