Page 13 of Ren: Warlord Brides
When the sands turn green and flower.
Oran turned to look at the corner of his desk, as if alerted to a threat. In two strides, he was at the desk and pulled a small electronic device out from the underside. He held it up with a sneer.
“Such dishonorable tactics.” Oran squeezed his fist. The device crunched and gave a thin electronic whine as it died.
“Dishonorable tactics? If only every problem could be solved by punching it.”
Oran growled, not amused.
“I prefer to think of it as guile but let us consider what is truly dishonorable.” Ren leaned forward, eager to make his point. “Some would say purposely impeding an investigation is dishonorable. What is dishonorable is financing research which puts every living being in this system at risk.”
Oran tossed the broken device to the ground. “Countering with a duplicitous tactic does not make your action correct. Inform Paax that he has no grounds—”
Ren waved a hand. “My opinion does not sway the warlord’s decisions. Whining about what actions are within his purview will make no difference.”
“Do you speak to your warlord in such an insolent manner?”
The older male was flush in the face. An immature part of Ren—exceedingly small, practically nonexistent—delighted in the male’s frustration. Agitation could loosen a tongue better than any threat or trickery.
“Yes. I believe he finds me charming,” Ren said. Perhaps he spoke with a touch more smug pride than usual, imagining Lorran trying to do the same to his father and failing. Perhaps it was the usual amount of smug pride. He could not say.
“Leave before I decide to return you to your warlord in pieces.”
Ren retrieved the ruined electronics from the floor and showed himself out.
“Warrior, if you must pursue this path, consider Nals.”
* * *
Safely on his ship,Ren brought the deployed devices online. As he expected, Oran or a security tech swept through the office. They found the electronics he left on the painting and nestled in the leaves of the potted plant, which he expected.
They did not find the device in the ventilation system. Excellent.
Initiating commands, the device burrowed into the network for the building. Security for the computer system was robust, but Ren had plenty of time to run crypto programs to slip inside.
The feline jumped into his lap.
“Did you have a good day, Murder Mittens?” He stroked the feline under the chin, as she preferred.
Sharp claws dug into his thigh as an answer. A content purr emitted from her slender body. The precise and deadly nature of the tiny Terran feline never failed to surprise him, especially when she punctured his skin.
“Yes, my day was productive as well,” he said, watching the screen while the crypto programs ran.
Emry
“A human! How quaint. And you prepared all the human food?”
A hand lightly touched Emry on the shoulder, snagging her attention. As she turned to face the Sangrin male who spoke, his gaze fixated on her scars.
New planet. Same old bull.
Emry ran a hand down the starched white chef’s coat before clasping her hands behind her back. No one needed to see how she clenched her fists.
“Yes. I am Pashaal’s personal chef,” she answered. Pashaal, her employer, liked for Emry to mingle among the guests when she hosted a dinner party. While the guests drank cocktails and servers circulated trays with appetizers, she stood awkwardly and answered any questions the guest might have. They never did. That was not the point. Pashaal wanted her guests to know the Earth food was authentic.
Emry fought the urge to glance at her wrist comm. She had to endure ten more minutes of this before she had to return to the kitchen. Her comm would vibrate when the timer elapsed.
“That explains why the offerings are so unpalatable, but Pashaal was never known for her good taste,” the man said.
