<div>


    <div>


    P''taal strides at a purposeful gait through the ooman living areas. Noise at the opposite end of the corridor causes P’taal to angle his plasmacaster. Two ooman males are looting a nearby quarters. One ooman male, dressed in a grey jumpsuit, exits the damaged door of the living space. He hefts a metal box on one shoulder and glances furtively around. The second ooman appears and slaps the first ooman on the back.


    “How many credits you think we can get for what’s in the safe?” The second ooman says in an excited voice.


    “Enough to buy us a whole lot of holovid time,” ooman one responds. “I know this girl on Kelxer…Her father’s an ex-colonial marine. Took her on all kinds of exotic vacations across the galaxy when she was growing up. Gave her crazy ideas. When I tell you…She’s one crazy slut. She is one crazy slut. Costs about a thousand credits for three hours with this chick. But it’s worth every minute.”


    “Three hours? With a holo-girl?!” Ooman two crows. “Isn’t that like a record or something? And just how do you afford that on your salary?”


    “Same as I’m doing now, butthead!” Ooman one hisses. “Find a nice, lonely old spinster…Screw her a few times…Get her real comfortable with me. Slide some untraceable neurotoxin into her drink and I’m good to go. Set for at least another six months. Had this one old girl…She made my girl on Kelxer look like a kitten. A real cougar. I hated killing her. Talk about mountains of credits. Girl was sitting on over 230,000. All she did was stay at home all day. Lived off her late husband’s trust. Some executive from that defunct…Dayshadow Industries…Or whatever. Guy killed himself when the company went under. His daughter sold out and came over to Weyland’s side. His widow just sat around moping…And waiting for a guy like me to sweep her off her feet and into the grave. Decided not to disappoint.”


    Ooman one chuckles and readjusts the safe on his shoulder. He grins at his thieving companion.


    “You ready to go?” Ooman one says.


    Then, his head explodes like a ripe melon. The metal safe slides off of the ooman’s blood-soaked shoulder and slams to the floor, the body tumbling in a heap. Blood spurts from the place where the first ooman’s head formerly took up residence, coating the area red.


    Ooman two backs slowly away, drenched in his friend’s blood. Specks of brain matter coat the thief’s face, neck, and grey jumpsuit. He looks down at his clothes, and the dead body of his companion, and screams hysterically. Wiping at the front of his jumpsuit, the ooman backs toward the room they just exited. P’taal lowers his cloak and advances slowly on the retreating ooman.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    “What? What the hell are you?” The ooman stammers.


    He nearly trips over his own feet trying to get back into the room. P’taal is upon him in only a few strides. Gripping the ooman male by his throat, and lifting him into the air, P’taal ejects his wrist blades. The ooman’s eyes grow impossibly wide.


    “No. No, No. No!” the ooman struggles to yell.


    The ooman waves one hand in the air. He uses his other hand to slap at P’taal’s right hand, which is around his throat. P’taal draws the ooman close so that his masked face is only mere inches away.


    “I hated killing her,” P’taal states in a perfect imitation of the dead thief’s voice. “Decided not to disappoint.”


    With a mocking laugh, P’taal stabs the second thief straight through. The ooman’s eyes widen further, and then all motion stops. P’taal withdraws his blades and slams the dead body against the outer wall. Studying the ooman’s skull, P’taal finds it worthy of his collection. He retracts his wrist blades long enough to reposition his hands so that he can grip the top of the ooman’s skull with the opposite hand.


    Once again ejecting his wrist blades, P’taal backs from the wall and holds the ooman male out at arms-length. With a swift motion, P’taal severs the ooman’s head from his body. With no time to gather more trophies, P’taal retrieves a vial of dissolving liquid from a pouch on his thigh. He pours a large amount on the bodies of both thieves. They are gone in a matter of moments.


    -


    -


    P’taal kneels inside the empty quarters, where the thieves obtained their safe full of loot. He turns his newly obtained ooman skull in the light. With a sly smile, P’taal gazes into the empty eye sockets. He remembers the color, like spring waters, of the dead ooman’s frightened eyes. The fresh smell of spilled ooman blood, the sensation of absolute control—as he held the ooman’s neck in his powerful grip. The sound of the dead ooman’s body as it struck the floor. Mission accomplished. Another trophy for his suit.


    A thought occurs to P’taal and he blinks slowly. What of Dr. Boyd? She is ooman also. Why does she continue to side with their warriors…When the threat to her life no longer exists? Because of her son with N-Vorl? When did that occur? Although the expected birth of a descendant would explain N-Vorl’s frequent tirades while aboard Glandis’ former flagship. Do N-Vorl and Teresa love each other? Have they performed the ritual of Everlasting Love? If so, would such a ritual be seen as legitimate? Would the council honor such a pledge?


    P’taal sighs heavily, remembering his own forbidden love. Glotis. Wife to Elder Eflirus. Glotis, his once and forever love. How wonderful it had felt, holding her against him. Filling her with his descendants. He had hoped she would become heavy, and that she would renounce her title. That they would be exiled together and live out their days as lovers and rogues. Such wild dreams. Dreams unfit for a true yautja. But yet, he had had them.


    P’taal finishes polishing his new trophy and affixes it to his mesh suit, just underneath the rise of his left shoulder. He climbs heavily to his feet and strolls toward the doorway. A smile covers his yautja face.


    “Forbidden n''fiis,” P’taal mutters to himself. “Is often a deeper n''fiis. I cannot blame N-Vorl for hiding his love for the ooman. I would have done the same. I have done the same.”


    P’taal exits the quarters and heads for the ooman eating place. That is where they will gather the remaining ooman females and their offspring until the final detonation.