Page 11 of Ren: Warlord Brides
A warrior should be able to separate his personal feelings from his duty. His father had taught him that lesson. Harshly. His skin may have healed, but he bore the scars.
Aware of the time trickling by, Ren flipped through the notes on his tablet. When the warlord assigned him this task, he approached it with the same thorough research he brought to every project. Rebuilding a hyperdrive, installing recording devices, or gathering intelligence on Sangrin Council members, ranking them regarding their vulnerability to blackmail and likelihood to be extorted. It was all the same.
Ren had read the file enough to commit the information to memory. Still, he swiped through the pages, pausing at the profile for one councilor in particular. It listed staff and known associates. A familiar face stared back at him with hostile eyes.
The door opened. An older male with white hair and gray horns stepped through. Ren recognized Oran Rhew, elder member of the Sangrin Council and father of the impossible Lorran, immediately.
“Apologies for the wait,” Oran said, moving to the overstuffed chair near the window. He sat with a heavy sigh, as if his bones ached. “I cannot traverse a corridor without being stopped by at least three people.” The male’s brow furrowed. “You do not look like a Mahdfel.”
“This is a formality,” Ren said, ignoring the slight. His entire life he had been too short, too slim, called a runt, and worse. Words regarding his appearance could no longer injure him, even if those words did occasionally rub sand in his tail.
Discreetly, he closed the file on the tablet. The aging male who sat opposite him was not the cagey politician Lorran had led him to expect.
Oran tilted his head. “Do you begin every investigation by assuring the subject they are of no consequence?”
Ah. There was the cagey politician.
Ren understood politicians, or at least how to navigate the shifting sands around him. His father had been more concerned about clan politics than Ren’s well-being.
Another similarity he shared with Lorran.
“Yes. It puts them at ease to believe I am ticking off an item on a list, rather than delving into their affairs,” Ren answered, sidestepping the impulse to play games with carefully coded words and half-truths.
He understood politicians. That did not mean he liked them.
“So, this is an investigation and you have already delved into my affairs,” the older male said.
“TheJudgmentanswered a distress call to a research vessel,SRV-P11.” Ren called up the relevant information on the tablet and projected the holo above. Images of the two-person crew, a Sangrin Mahdfel male and his mate, flickered in the air. “Only their son survived.”
“I recall the status update from your warlord,” Oran said, his tone calm and controlled.
“Then there is no reason to mince words. Ulrik and his mate conducted illegal, immoral research, funded by the Council. My warlord wishes to locate the source of that funding.”
“Because it is Paax’s responsibility to police the Council?”
“Do not misunderstand me. The Council, or a rogue member, funded an atrocity. The Suhlik do not care for fine distinctions. We are all the same to them. The Council’s actions put the entire sector at risk when the Suhlik come for their revenge.”
Oran watched Ren, the older male’s face impassive and unreadable. “You are from Rolusdreus,” he said at length.
“Correct, and I know enough history to understand that when the Suhlik return, they will bring enough firepower and soldiers to reduce the planet to a radioactive wasteland.”
In all fairness, his home planet had done a fair amount of damage to their environment before the Suhlik arrived. The Mahdfel had arrived to repel the Invasion but infighting and a lack of unified leadership led to devastation when the Suhlik returned. The planet of his birth had not always had so little arable land. Nor had the cities always needed to be contained in environmental domes.
“Then we should be prepared, and vital research,” Oran waved a hand to the holo images, “should not be prohibited.”
Ren leaned back in the chair, turning the male’s words over in his mind. “You do not believe that.”
“No, but my colleagues do.” Oran leaned back, mirroring Ren’s posture. “I am not surprised that the research project happened. I am only surprised that my colleagues ceased bloviating long enough to actually accomplish something.”
A huff of amusement escaped Ren. “Do you know who funded it?”
“No.”
“Who do you believe to be capable of this?”
“Ah. I know who is sympathetic, I know who has access to the budget, and I know who has the talent to obfuscate the trail.” Oran produced a folded tablet and tapped out a list before sending it to Ren.
He reviewed the list, already familiar with the background details of every Council member. “They are not Mahdfel.”
