The Sovereigns Claim Pt 02

Chapter 2

The ship settled in the hangar with a low, mechanical hum. My soldiers and I disembarked. I wasn't expecting fanfare, but the lack of a proper reception was borderline insulting. Only a single Fateweaver stood waiting for us.

"Eclipse Forger Lyxom, welcome," they said, dipping their head slightly.

I barely acknowledged the greeting as my software immediately linked to the base's network. A flood of information streamed into my interface, mapping out the station and pinpointing Xorath's location.

"I'll go see my brother now," I said curtly.

"Of course, sir."

It had been many months since I'd last set foot here. My work kept me at the edges of our claimed territory, pushing forward where conflict was inevitable, while Xorath remained at the heart of it all. I conquered; he governed. It was a balance that worked--on paper, at least. My victories meant nothing without his administration, and his governance only existed because of the land and resources I brought under our control.This was the logic drilled into us during our training, the reason we'd been paired to manage this portion of the planet. Together, we were an efficient team, and our achievements were undeniable. But that didn't mean I liked him.

Xorath had always been insufferable -- arrogant, proud and perpetually critical of my methods. He couldn't keep his opinions to himself, always ready to lecture me on restraint or strategy, as if he weren't benefiting from the blood spilled by my forces. My only consolation was knowing the feeling was mutual. He despised me as much as I did him, and it showed every time we crossed paths.

As I approached his war room, my interface picked up his vitals. The spike in his heart rate when I entered the room brought me satisfaction.

"Lyxom."

"Xorath."

He ordered the door behind me closed, the heavy hiss of the seal cutting off the faint hum of the Ironclad outside. The gesture was typical of him--Xorath always preferred his conversations private, away from the ears of those who followed us. It wasn't about secrecy; it was about control.

I stood still, letting my eyes trace his movements, assessing him the way I always did. His armour was as polished and sharp as ever, as he rarely saw combat, and he looked the same, of course. We both did. Our training ensured that, forging us into tools of efficiency for our people. Change came slowly for us soldiers, if at all. However, psychologically Xorath had always been a little unstable. He had a nature that leaned toward chaos, toward creativity. He was human in that way, in his taste for novelty. It made him unpredictable -- an asset in a job that was so mind-numbingly repetitive as his was. He, however, thrived in monotony, for he was not defeated by it, but freed to reflect and experiment.

It was that part of him, that constant urge for something new, that I watched for now. I knew he wouldn't be the same as the last time I'd seen him. There would be some new interest, some fresh edge to his approach. Something subtle, perhaps, but it would be there.

"There was no need to come all the way down here just to accept my proposal, brother," Xorath began, his tone light but edged with his usual condescension.

"I didn't," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "I was ordered to take a medical leave, and my surgeon is posted at your base."

His posture shifted slightly, betraying his surprise before he recovered. "So, you're staying."

"Try not to sound so displeased, brother," I said, matching his tone. "You will barely notice my presence."

"Somehow, I doubt that." His helmet tilted slightly, the faint flicker of his interface lights suggesting he was already skimming through reports. "Care to tell me what happened?"

I crossed my arms, waiting for him to stop, pretending he wasn't genuinely curious. "The resistance came up with a new toy. A creative little explosive grenade that disrupts our shields just before detonation."

Xorath paused, his head tilting further as he absorbed the information. His helmet moved as he was probably browsing the library of reports. "I assume you've tested countermeasures?"

"I've started," I replied. "It's in progress. The Patriarch himself is overlooking the tech development."

"How many did we lose?"

"Only 43 soldiers, but they're being healed and revived as we speak. The damage was contained."

He gave a small nod. "And you?"

"I have to undergo surgery to remove the pieces lodged in my body. The grenades didn't just disrupt our shields; their fragments are designed to bypass standard armour. Efficient, isn't it?"

His head tilted further, and I could almost imagine the faint smirk behind his visor. "Efficient. Creative, as you said. I'm sure the resistance was thrilled with their success."

I narrowed my eyes, but there was no point in snapping at him. "I'll recover," I said curtly. "And when I do, I'll make sure their creativity is met with something far worse."

"Of course you will," Xorath said, his tone laced with amusement. "Do try not to get yourself killed in the process. Your absence would make my work intolerably dull."

I ignored the jab, shifting the conversation back to what mattered. "I assume you've had no reports of this weapon reaching your territory yet?"

"Not yet," Xorath said. "But if it's another North American design, it's only a matter of time before it spreads."

"Yes, they will use the South Americans as expendable troops to waste our resources with their tech before they consider acting on their own."

He typed onto a keyboard only he could see.

"Well, I'll see that you are well taken care of, brother. I'm assigning you a room near the medical wing."

"How thoughtful," I replied dryly. "Now, of course, we can talk about those negotiations while I'm here."

He tilted his head slightly "Did my proposal seem reasonable to you?"

"It lacked what I believe is most critical--soldiers and volunteers."

Xorath straightened, his tone vibrating with annoyance. "Oh, come now. I think our current division is more than fair."

"I care not for fairness," I said, my voice sharpening. "I care that if you are taking the privilege of having offspring first, you are prepared to be uncomfortable in other matters. I always need more manpower, and you are always in a better position to supply it."

His teeth clicked faintly, an instinctive tell of his irritation, though he quickly masked it. "Manpower is hardly a commodity I can conjure at will, Lyxom. Governance requires a delicate balance, and stripping soldiers from my territory risks disrupting that balance."

"Then move soldiers," I said, my tone cutting through his excuses. "Spend your requests on monitoring drones. Use your resources more creatively. You have the luxury of stability. I do not." I leaned closer, letting my words land with weight. "Give some of that up for me."

His visor dimmed slightly as he processed my demand, no doubt running calculations in his head, weighing the costs against the risks. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Finally, he straightened, the faintest sigh escaping him. "I'll review my allocations," he said, his voice clipped. "But don't think for a moment that this is without consequence. A weakened foundation invites instability."

"And an undermanned front invites defeat," I shot back. "We each have our burdens, brother. It's time you carried a little more of yours."

Xorath's gaze lingered on me, his posture rigid. I knew he hated to yield, even in part, but the truth of my words left him with little choice. For now, at least.

"And there's more."

"Of course there is," he said, his voice tight, his frustration barely masked.

"I want the volunteer after a time frame. Let's say, one earth turn around the sun. Be your union fruitful or not. It's only fair that I get my own turn."

The silence that followed was palpable, a sharp contrast to the faint hum of the room's machinery. Xorath's mandibles twitched, his body stiffening further as he processed my words.

"That's a bold assumption," he said finally, his tone low and dangerous.

"It's practical," I countered. "You've beaten me, fine. I was defeated plainly and square, though I could argue my focus was much more strained than yours. So I'm willing to wait, but I won't let your whims deny me the same opportunity. The Obsidian Patriarch has already agreed to this term, of course, it's only logical."

I could feel the heat of his glare even through the barrier of his helmet. "You always think ahead, don't you, Lyxom?"

"Someone has to," I replied. "Especially when it comes to ensuring our future. And speaking of that, why don't you introduce us?"

"What for?" Xorath asked, his tone sceptical, though I could sense the irritation behind it.

"Well, she's family now, is she not?" I said, letting a faint mockery escape in my voice.

"Hardly," he shot back, his voice cold. "She's a volunteer. A means to an end. Don't make it more than it is."

Ah, there it was. That annoyance was new.

I chuckled to mock him just a little further. "Such detachment, Xorath. I thought you'd be more sentimental about the woman who's supposed to carry your offspring."

"Sentimentality has no place in this. The volunteer is here for a purpose, nothing more." He stiffened, his gaze sharp as it locked on mine. Again he typed, and there was a moment of silence a little long than necessary.

"What's wrong?"

"She's in the medical wing."

***

Isadora

I watched the graphs moving up and down my screen as I scrolled them. To my surprise, most of the internal reports from the compound were open for me, maybe because I was registered as an agent in that operation. It was pure statistical heaven, everything was accounted for in graphs and projections. It was almost like being back at work, writing reports. I hated to admit it, but the helmet's interface was convenient. It translated text both written and spoken for me; answered questions; highlighted directions to places I might need to find, like the break room, cafeteria, battlements and hangar; and gave me access to all the information I could need about the base, like the graphs I was just reading. Beyond that, a human team had worked on extra features, like a music and movie database, an e-book reader, a small social network, even a crash course on Vurlixan language. People were basically using the helmet as they'd used their phones and personal computers before. If only it wasn't also being used to screw with my head three times a day, I might've actually appreciated it. As it stood, though, the thing made my skin crawl. And everyone was wearing one, which meant I couldn't see their faces. How did they live without seeing anyone's eyes all day? It made me crazy!

I distracted myself with math and statistics until the system called for me. S047-1826, Isadora, room 3. An augmented reality arrow drew the path for me.

The doctor was a woman. Her uniform covered her completely, and with the helmet, I couldn't tell anything about her, be it her appearance or her age, except that she had a gentle voice, and her name was Monique, and her ID was C4-046-0953. I explained that I was having painful cramps and some bleeding. She asked a ton of questions about my menstrual cycle and my PMS symptoms. Then she explained how they were dealing with that in the Vurlixan compound, with an injection of hormones that kept your ovulation away for six months. Most of the women had opted in, she said, since it simplified things during the war. Then, casually, she asked if I was interested, mentioning that serving in the compound would be suspended if I were to become pregnant.

That one comment hit like a jolt. If she was suggesting that, then she didn't know what was expected of me, or what my status as a "volunteer" really meant.

"Could I just keep using my usual pill? My pills were in my suitcase, but that got lost."

"I'm afraid pills aren't allowed in the compound," she said, fingers typing effortlessly on an invisible keyboard. "All medications are administered through the machinery either on your food or through injections. You know how Vurlixans are -- they like to track everything. But I'll sign you up for a monthly dose of progesterone. That should be enough for now. For this month, I'll also get you dipyrone, ibuprofen, and some iron supplements. The iron might cause mild intestinal cramps, but nothing nearly as bad as the ones you have right now."

She continued typing as I sat there, watching her work.

The doctor's fingers paused midair. "Hm, that's strange. The system is blocking contraceptives on your file."

My stomach flipped. I swallowed hard, the nervousness bubbling up.

"I was afraid that might happen," I said.

Her fingers tapped again, and she hummed softly as her helmet fed her more data. "Let me check... What sort of job description is that? I never met someone with an 'S' ID before." She straightened slightly, her tone turning more and more confused. "Wait a minute..."

I didn't need to see her face to know she had just discovered exactly what I had been classified as.

"How..."

"I don't want to talk about it," I said. The following silence was eerie and heavy. "Can I just get some pads and my painkillers, please?"

"...Of course. The injection drone will be here shortly." I could tell she was trying not to look at me directly, as if that would somehow make it less awkward.

A small, sleek drone zipped into the room through the air vents, hovering at shoulder height with a faint mechanical hum. Its smooth, metallic casing gleamed under the sterile lights, a needle extending as it prepared to administer the injection.

"Let it do its work," the doctor said, stepping aside. "You'll feel a sting, but it's quick. It's programmed to target the deltoid," the doctor said, her tone oddly calm, like she was trying to ease the tension. "Stay still for a moment."

I clenched my jaw, holding still as the needle pricked my skin. It wasn't painful, just a small pinch, followed by the faint burning of the injection. It took a few seconds, then it retracted and flew away.

"If you need another dosage, just come back every eight hours," the doctor said, her voice steady but distant. "It's already authorized in the system. I'll also arrange for a special device to be delivered to your lodgings. You wear it inside your panties. It's designed to collect urine during long work periods, but it'll work just the same, and keep you dry and comfortable. Just empty it and wash it when you take your daily shower."

She stepped closer, taking my hand gently and placing something small into my palm. I glanced down and recognized the packaging instantly: two Levonorgestrel morning-after pills.

"You've already taken one of these, right?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with urgency.

I nodded. "One of the girls had one. She gave it to me."

She exhaled, her hand lingering briefly on mine. "That means, with your last cycle being nine days past, and the pill you were taking... Yeah, you might have evaded the pregnancy for now. Take the second one in another fifteen days, if there's unprotected sex. And if you have another bleeding as severe as this, come back to see me. I'll come up with some excuse. I don't know how long you may keep doing this, but it will buy you time."

I stared at the pills, the weight of her words pressing down on me like a vice. My throat tightened as I whispered, "Thank you so much, you have no idea."

"I do, believe me. Keep them with you, don't let them find it. And if you need anything, come back to see me. No questions, no judgment."

I nodded, closing my hand around the packages. My fingers curled so tightly they could cut into my palm. I placed them in my pocket and zipped it up. She stepped back, her helmet tilting slightly as though she wanted to say more but thought better of it.

"Take care, Isadora," she said finally, her tone kind, but resigned.

I left the room without another word. The sterile corridor stretched out before me. Fifteen days. Time to adjust to the idea. But no amount of time would ever make this feel normal.

"Little human," suddenly

his

voice came inside my helmet. I felt it vibrate through my whole body like an earthquake, my heart sped up with the scare. Was he monitoring me? Did he know what I did?

"Sir?" I answered, nervous. My voice broke.

"Why are you in medical?"

"I was just getting some painkillers for my cramps."

"What's that? A human sickness?"

"Ahn, it's... A part of our hormonal cycle. Nothing to worry about."

"And where are you going?" His tone was calm, at least. I had nothing to fear for now.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice before answering. "I was going back to the Fateweaver so she could assign me work for the afternoon."

"Go to your lodgings" he replied. "I'll meet you there shortly. Don't keep me waiting."

I felt like I could faint. I took the direction of my room, going down the first set of stairs I found. Everyone had rooms they shared with two to three people, all of them in the higher floors. I was stuck in a room of my own in the underground, just by Xorath's side. I hadn't asked for the arrangement. It had been decided for me. I hadn't even learned his name from him. He hadn't introduced himself, hadn't offered me any explanation for who or what he was. But everyone else already knew. Whispers traveled fast here, and I picked up the pieces wherever I could. Xorath, Sovereign, colonel, the name on everyone's lips when they spoke of command.

The thought made my stomach twist as I reached the door to my quarters. The small metal panel blinked faintly, registering my presence, and then door slid open with a mechanical hiss, to the impersonal space inside. There was a bed, a table and a chair. I also had a bathroom of my own, and a chest where I had a few changes of uniforms. It was everything I owned then, and it felt like nothing. I placed the pills inside the chest and closed it just in time before the door opened again.

Xorath came in, his somber presence taking all the attention in the light of the room. At first glance, he was almost indistinguishable from any other Vurlixan soldier. His uniform bore no symbols or embellishments to mark his rank, no outward sign of his status. If not for the subtle identifier on my helmet's interface, I might have mistaken him for just another officer. The figure behind him, however, was blatantly different. This Vurlixan stood taller, broader, his armor gleaming with bright purple accents that pulsed faintly under the dim light. The glowing lines across his helmet formed an intricate, giving him an almost regal aura. His sheer presence dwarfed the room, making it feel even smaller.

"Here she is, Eclipse Forger Lyxom. Little human, the Forger is our combat leadership and front of our conquering efforts."

I looked him up and down, trying to understand who did it matter. But in truth, I was relieved that Xorath wasn't alone.

"Sir, how are you?"

Lyxom stepped closer, towering over me. His titanic hand took mine in a soft grip. The warmth of it surprised me, as did the way his fingers wrapped around mine with what almost felt like care.

"Lamenting that my brother took you from me, miss Isadora."

I was surprised that he spoke my name. He extended the "s" when he spoke it, making it sound like Ee

ss

adora. I felt heat rise to my cheeks, and for the first time in days, I was caught off guard by something that wasn't sheer terror.

"Were you the one who disputed my contract?"

"I was," he replied. "Of course, a couple of Ironclad aren't on the level of a Sovereign."

"I was just lucky to be nearby," Xorath said.

"Not all of us are blessed with such flexibility in our schedules."