Episode Fifty-Seven The President and Senators

E ldar

Despite all the destruction, it's obvious how fancy this place is, with paintings and sculptures on every wall and flat surface. It's a far cry from how the humans lived at the Works, and a world apart from how the rest of us live Down Below.

Drixxa is bleeding from his shoulder. It must not be serious. He acts as if he's unaware he's been shot.

Where is this President of theirs? None of these males seem to have the look or bearing of one of the most powerful males on Earth.

Thallose sails in. For a moment his white wings obliterate the sky. When his hooves touch down, though, it's Nadira who seems larger than life, her flaming red hair windblown and wild around her face.

"Where is the bastard?" She spits her question at one male in particular. For a moment, I forgot she knew these people. From what I understand, perhaps her body had been given to these males as a gift. I can't suppress a shiver of revulsion at that thought.

"Who?"

"We came to speak with the President." She pauses, almost paralyzed as she considers her next statement. "And the Senators. Where are they?"

"I have no idea."

Those four words give my mind a thousand pictures of what our females' lives must have been like. The way his gaze didn't quite connect with hers, the dismissive shrug of his shoulders, the sheer disdain in his sneer as if answering her was a gift she hadn't earned and didn't deserve.

I grind my teeth together to keep from spitting curses at him. Because it looks as if we'll need this male, I loosen my fingers on the triggers for fear I'll kill him before he outlives his usefulness.

Drixxa has no such reservations. He directs a thin stream of fire at the male who bursts into flames. One moment later, the male has been reduced to nothing more than a pile of glowing ash.

It must be hard for the dragon to speak around that mouthful of deadly fangs, because it's Azael who demands, his tone almost as deadly as Drixxa's torrent of fire, "Where is the President?"

When no one answers, Azael asks Nadira, "Who is highest in command in this room?"

Before Nadira can point him out, a male steps forward, sputtering noises so terrified they don't even sound like words as he points behind the massive desk near the back wall.

"Hiding?" Azael's voice drips with contempt.

The door bursts open and all our guns point to it before we realize who is barging in. The wall of green orc flesh is enough to make us all stand down.

Dhar, the last of Nadira's mates to arrive, enters first, panting. Did that male just break into the Tower and climb one hundred floors, fighting all comers as he and his comrades made their way here? I'm in awe.

Azael strides to the desk, his laser barrel pointed first at the wooden desk, then into the cubby where the human is hiding.

The male who emerges appears ancient and vulnerable. This is the leader of all these people?

Down Below, our leaders rule by strength, cunning, and bravery. Perhaps this male is cunning, but he has no strength or courage.

He crawls out, then raises his hands and stands, his knees shaking.

Nadira tells the orcs, who are perfectly up to the task, to search the entire top floor for all humans. While they perform their sweep, we move to a more spacious room unspoiled by the firefight.

There are ten human males whom Nadira has identified as all but one of the Senators, a cadre of disarmed military, and a few young, beautiful, naked females.

I tear off my tunic and hand it to one of them, just as others in our army do the same. Although I lived in the Works for years, it wasn't as a grown male. My jaw clenches in fury at this picture. These powerful males made their females so powerless, to the point of stripping them of education and any decision in their lives, even removing their choice of what they can wear. My fingers itch to pull the triggers.

Drixxa has shifted to his human form and is now more capable of speech. Though Nadira hands him a pair of pants that she pulled out of the bag that was secured across her back, he doesn't rush to pull them on.

"Nadira is our spokesperson. She will inform you of our demands."